


move your world a little closer

by countthestars



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alien AU, Alternate Universe, M/M, Slow Burn, minor tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-05-17 07:25:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 45,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5859676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/countthestars/pseuds/countthestars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Niall is a bit lost, Liam and Louis can't seem to get their shit together, and Harry is literally out of this world.</p>
<p>(aka: alien narry)</p>
            </blockquote>





	move your world a little closer

**Author's Note:**

> this fic took a village to finish. firstly, huge thanks to ollie, who was willing to talk through everything from alien sex to how radio works until we got all the details worked out. this fic would not exist without you! another huge thanks to sam, who without fail gives me the best feedback a writer could ask for, and always cheers me on. thirdly, massive thanks to heather, sereen, jamie, and kate for beta'ing this in various stages and keeping me motivated to finish.
> 
> the biggest thanks to sabine for creating the WONDERFUL graphic for this fic ([here](http://moondoggiestyle.tumblr.com/post/139822288439/move-your-world-a-little-closer-author)), as well as an incredible playlist + cover art ([here](http://shimmeringarmour.tumblr.com/post/139822736125/fanmix-for-move-your-world-a-little)). seriously, please check them out!!
> 
> note: while this is heavily based on the alien narry tumblr drabbles, they don't fit exactly into this 'verse, so think of those more as inspiration than anything else. fun fact: pahrump is a real town in nevada and the home of art bell, who founded several paranormal-themed radio shows; niall's character is based off that general premise. the title is from 'maybe love' from the jetsons movie soundtrack.

 

“Niall, the question isn't whether or not Bigfoot _exists_.” Louis lets his sentence hang enticingly and Niall pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. Someday he's going to learn his lesson and jam a chair under the doorknob so Louis can't get in the booth.

Of course, then he'll also have to sacrifice the leftover Chinese usually Louis brings with him, but it's not like he can eat on air anyway. The microphones pick up everything.

“That is, actually, the question,” Niall says, ignoring Louis' bait. “Which you would know if you bothered to listen to the first half of the show, Louis.”

Stabbing a piece of sweet and sour chicken with a chopstick, Louis brings it to his mouth. When Niall bats it out of his hand with a glare, Louis is at least professional enough to tell Niall how he feels about that using his non-verbals. It's not particularly favorable.

“See, the thing is, Neil,” Louis says in a conversational tone, still trying to commit homicide with his eyes. “The first half of your show lacked two very important components.”

“Which you would know, because you were listening.”

“The first,” Louis continues, undeterred, “is me. No one likes a monologue, Niall.” Which, all right, fair play. Niall's listener count tends to climb when Louis joins him on air, but Niall suspects that's just because Louis has a flair for dramatics.

“Or maybe you just like the sound of your own voice, Louis,” Niall suggests, because admitting that Louis is right about something only fuels the fire. His head is big enough as is.

Across the table, Louis winks at him and makes like he's going for another piece of chicken. Niall grabs a pen and holds it up like a tiny sword in a defensive posture, which of course results in a staring contest over the container of lukewarm Chinese food. After three seconds of dead air, Niall gives.

“And what's the second thing my show is lacking?”

Louis grins. “You always ask the wrong questions.”

This time, Niall takes the bait, because it's clear Louis isn't going to let it go. With an eyeroll, he says, “Right, of course I do. So what's the right question, then, O wise one?”

Reclining back in his seat, Louis laces his fingers together behind his head, thunking his heels on the table and crossing one ankle over the other. “I think it's clear, Neil, that Bigfoot is real. What we need to be asking ourselves is _where is Mrs. Bigfoot_?”

“Oh, don't take the piss,” Niall groans, clapping one hand over his eyes.

“I love when you go all Irish on me. _Oh, don't take the piss_ ,” Louis mocks in a high-pitched voice that sounds like a leprechaun overdosed on helium.

“I don't sound like that,” Niall immediately objects.

“You do, but that's beside the point. I mean, think about it. Bigfoot rumors have been around for decades. Can't be the same one, can it? He's got to have a baby mama. There's got to be little baby Bigfoots running around. Is Bigfoot a family man? That's what I want to know.”

There's a gleam in Louis' eye that Niall doesn't like one bit when he suddenly leans forward, dropping his feet back to the floor and closing in on the mic. “And for that matter, how does Bigfoot even reproduce? Does he--”

“Oh, would you look at that, we have a caller! Let's take this, get another perspective.” Niall stabs the button to patch the caller through with a little more force than is probably necessary, before Louis can actually start talking about Bigfoot's sex life on air. He named the fledgling radio show _Niall After Dark_ because of its timeslot, not because of its explicit content, which is a concept Louis has had difficulty grasping since the start.

“Hello? You're on air, pet. Can you give us your name?” Niall never bothers to screen callers before putting them through, partially because that would require staff he doesn't have, and mostly because the majority of them end up being absolutely hilarious. The kind of people that call into a conspiracy theory themed radio show after midnight on a Sunday aren't the type you can predict, anyway.

“Hiiii,” the caller says, and Niall can't help the grin that stretches his face. He jabs his pen towards Louis in warning, and Louis pantomimes zipping his lips and throwing away the key.

“H! It's been awhile since we've heard from you.” Three weeks, actually, not that Niall's been counting. “How've you been, love?”

“Busy,” H says in his slow, gravelly voice. Niall's good with accents, always has been, but he's never quite been able pin down H's. It seems to change from week to week; sometimes sounding distinctly Northern English, other times has a hint of a lazy Southern drawl, others still like nothing Niall's ever heard before. “Bit of traveling, but I'm back now. Missed your show, Niall.”

Niall pretends that his stomach doesn't flutter at the way H says his name, sincere even through the static of the connection. He's also careful not to look at Louis, who appears to be pretending to vomit. Always with the theatrics, that one.

“Yeah? Where'd you travel to, then? Any Bigfoot sightings while you were out and about?”

H laughs; a low, guttural sound. “Oh, you know. Here and there. Didn't see Bigfoot, but I saw the most amazing tree.”

Louis turns his bark of laughter into an unconvincing cough at Niall's sharp look.

“Really?” Niall asks, as sincerely as he can manage. “And what was so amazing about this tree, hmm?”

“Oh, um. It was just so big, you know? Massive, really. You could live in it, probably, like those little elves.”

“Elves?” Niall echoes.

“Yeah, yeah, the ones on the cookies.”

It clicks. “Ah. Keebler.”

Louis looks like he's a second away from having an aneurism, his face is so red from holding in his laughter. _Is he for real?_ he mouths at Niall.

“Yeah, Keebler!” H exclaims. “Anyway, like. It was a great tree. We don't have trees like that back home.”

_And where is home,_ Niall wants to ask, just casual smalltalk, but H is always vague when it comes to personal details and Louis already has enough fodder to make Niall's life miserable for the next three months as it is. “So,” Niall prompts instead. “As happy as we are to hear about your tree--”

“Thrilled,” Louis adds, and there might be actual tears in the corners of his eye.

“--did you have anything to say about Bigfoot?”

“Oh yeah,” H says, like maybe he forgot. “I agree with Louis.”

Louis punches his fist into the air. “Ha!”

“I mean, if Bigfoot was real, it'd be like any other species, wouldn't it? You'd need males and females to reproduce, and they'd presumably have some kind of community structure like other primates – you know, who looks after the babies, how is leadership decided, how do they gather food, that sort of thing – and I just think, like, humans, I mean, people, would have found more evidence of that kinda thing, if Bigfoot really existed.”

“That is… surprisingly well-thought out, H,” Niall acknowledges, while Louis sulks back in his seat.

“Turning my own brilliant ideas against me.” Louis shakes his head. “Unbelievable. I don't believe it.”

“Sorry,” H says, but he doesn't sound particularly apologetic.

“Don't be,” Niall tells him anyway. “We need more people to put Louis in his place. It's good for him.”

Louis twirls his chopstick around his fingers, adjusting his grip until he's got it pointed at Niall like a dagger. “You better sleep with one eye open tonight, Horan.”

They let H go to take a few more callers after that, because even Niall recognizes that keeping someone on air just to flirt with them is not how to run a respectable radio show. Of course, he continues to let Louis bully his way onto the show week after week, so respectability might just be a pipe dream, at this point.

It's a little past two when they wrap up and leave the station, a tiny building that squats at the far end of town, cinderblock walls the same dusty color as the desert surrounding it. Louis has his sweet and sour chicken and side of rice clutched in his hands, and when Niall unlocks the door to his jeep, he hops right in the passenger seat.

“You staying at mine, then?” Niall asks, turning the key in the ignition a few times before it catches, the jeep sputtering to life with a whine.

“Well I'm not driving back to my place this late,” Louis says around a mouthful of half-chewed rice, which, yeah, Niall figured. Louis has a shitty little apartment on the outskirts of Vegas, a full hour's drive from the sleepy little town of Pahrump Niall's called home for the better part of five years. Why Louis still commutes back and forth on a near weekly basis is one unsolved mystery better left untouched, though Niall's sure he knows the root of it.

“You got it, chief,” he says, and shoves the gearshift into drive.

-

Louis is still snoring on the sofa when Niall rolls out of bed in the morning, stumbling his way into the kitchen for a cup of tea. A peek into the cupboards as the kettle heats up reveals that they're just as empty as they were yesterday, which is an unfortunate, if expected, turn of events.

Taking a cautious sip out of his steaming mug, Niall pads into the living room on bare feet. Louis' passed out on his back, one leg dangling off the edge of the cushion, his mouth open wide. After taking a picture with his mobile, just in case he ever needs blackmail material, Niall grabs the remote control and jabs it into Louis' ribs.

With a sputter, Louis' eyes snap open and he sits up with a lurch. “The fuck?”

Niall chucks the remote at Louis' stomach, and he manages to catch it on reflex. “Get up,” Niall tells him. “Let's get breakfast.”

Jaw cracking with a wide yawn, Louis stretches his arms over his head. “I'll text Liam.”

They get their usual booth near the back, the one next to a framed photo of a slightly out of focus, black and white desert scene with a smudge hovering just above the horizon that could be a UFO, if you squint. The smell of coffee and grease is thick in the air, and the ceramic mugs clink against the scarred wooden table when the waitress sets them down, flipping open her order pad expectantly.

Louis and Niall both order their usuals without bothering to crack open a menu, but Liam agonizes over his decision like he hasn't ordered the same thing for five years straight.

“I just feel like, I dunno, I should branch out. Try something new, you know?” Liam always wants to try something new after a breakup. Niall and Louis exchange a glance.

“You could have your eggs over easy instead of fried,” Niall suggests.

“Side of sausage instead of hashbrowns,” Louis offers.

“Orange juice instead of milk.”

“Belgium waffle instead of pancakes.”

Liam frowns down at his menu while the waitress taps her pen less than patiently against her order pad. “Okay,” he finally decides. “I want a fried egg, with a side of hashbrowns, and pancakes. Oh, and can I get a glass of milk to drink?”

The waitress collects their menus with a tight smile while Louis shakes his head. “Way to branch out, Liam. Really put yourself out there.”

Liam shrugs, unconcerned as he reaches for the sugar, ripping open no less than five packets to dump into his coffee. “I'll try something else new.”

Louis opens his mouth before snapping his jaw shut a second later, like he thought better of whatever he was going to say, which has probably happened three times in his entire life. Niall carefully ignores him. Louis always gets weird around Liam after a breakup. Niall and Liam exchange a glance.

“Great show last night, Niall,” Liam says brightly, and it feels like a subject change away from dangerous territory, even though they were only talking about breakfast foods; on the surface, anyway. Niall takes the out regardless.

“I don't know, I feel like Bigfoot was kind of an overdone topic, y'know? Like, there's nothing new to talk about there.” He pours some cream into his own coffee, stirring it slowly until the white swirls bleed out, turning everything a uniform toffee color.

“Except his sex life,” Louis interjects, and Niall kicks his shin under the table. “Rude,” Louis complains.

Liam takes a thoughtful sip of coffee. “Nah. I think, like, it's a rite of passage. You can't have a show like yours and ignore the classic unsolved mysteries, can you?”

“Suppose not,” Niall agrees, and Liam crinkles happily at him. Liam's warm brand of unwavering support has been a steady presence in Niall's life since the night he landed on the tarmac in Vegas with a chip on his shoulder almost five years ago. Niall had been aimless, then, and more than a little lost. He'd felt like everything in his life had been uprooted, and he didn't know how to survive with roots exposed like nerves, too raw to bury deep again.

That was one of the first lessons Niall had learned about the desert, though: it was possible to survive just fine with even the shallowest of roots, under the right conditions.

It'd been Louis' sofa he crashed on first, but it was Liam who really took Niall under his wing, offering him a place to stay until Niall found his feet. Niall never meant to stay, but instead of blowing through Pahrump like a tumbleweed caught in a desert breeze like he'd intended, he somehow found himself with a job and a lease and a usual booth at the back of a greaser diner.

Turns out it was possible to thrive with deep roots in the desert, under the best conditions.

(Zayn had been there, too, in the beginning, and taught Niall an entirely different lesson, but that one's still too raw to think about.)

Their food arrives then, hot from the kitchen, and Liam tucks into his fried egg with single-minded enthusiasm. He smiles brightly at Louis with full cheeks when Louis steals a bite of hashbrown from his plate, and Niall pretends not to notice the exchange.

“So, I've been thinking, boys,” Louis says after they've put away most of their food, plates nearly empty and stomachs full. “It's been awhile since we've had a night out.”

Liam's eyebrows furrow. “We went to Lucky's last weekend. You won twenty dollars playing blackjack.”

Louis curls his lip. “That doesn't count, Payno. I mean, like, a _real_ night out, on the strip, stumbling back to the hotel at four in the morning drunk off our asses, night out.”

Scraping the edge of his fork against his plate to gather up the rest of his runny egg, Niall swipes it up with a bite of toast before popping it in his mouth. “I dunno,” he says once he's swallowed. “I already had to switch shifts with someone last night to get off for the show, and I work all next weekend.”

“So we'll go during the week. Liam can just call in sick,” Louis argues, before Liam can object. “The garage can survive without him for a day, honestly. And anyway, when's the last time we went out, just the three of us?”

“You mean besides Lucky's, last weekend?” Liam deadpans, and Louis throws a balled up napkin at his head.

“Out _in Vegas_ , Liam, keep up. The last time we were all there, remember, we almost lost Za-- well.” Louis cuts himself off, darting an apologetic look towards Niall, as if Niall was the only casualty Zayn left behind. “Anyway, it was probably a mistake going during the national Elvis convention. This trip'll be fun, I promise.”

It really has been a long time since they've taken a trip to Vegas, Niall reflects, if Zayn was with them the last time they went. The lump in his throat is small, easy to swallow.

Desert roots are made to survive droughts.

-

Louis doesn't break his promise. Niall loses just over a hundred dollars on an unlucky slot machine trying to take the house, and Liam throws up on an unhappy Elvis's sparkling shoes. They wake up horrifically hungover and it takes them almost twenty minutes to find Louis, who passed out in the ensuite bathtub with his shoes still on.

It's the most fun Niall's had in months.

-

Niall's cupboards are still barren when he gets back, and after dropping an ashen-faced Liam off at his apartment to nap off the rest of his hangover, Niall heads to the store to pick up something that won't make his stomach churn with nausea.

There's a squeaky wheel on the front of his cart that wobbles violently as he pushes it slowly down the aisles, the sound like someone's drilling into his head, and he slows to a halt, eyes going in and out of focus as he examines the mac-n-cheese selection.

He's just decided on Sponge Bob shaped mac-n-cheese over Scooby Doo when he feels it. A crawling sensation on the back of neck, phantom fingers plucking at the soft hairs. Niall glances over his shoulder, but there's no one there.

Shrugging it off as best he can, Niall tosses the box of mac-n-cheese into the cart. He rounds the end of the aisle and starts down the next, finding himself in the soup section and unable to shake the feeling that someone is watching him.

He picks a can of soup at random and pretends to read the label, watching intently out of his periphery vision for any sign of movement. A few moments tick by before he decides he's being irrationally paranoid, and he chucks the can of soup into his cart rather than go through the effort of shoving it back into the can dispenser thing. He's too hungover for anything other than the path of least resistance.

Niall walks through the next few aisles on autopilot, plucking random items from the shelves and dropping them into his cart without really paying attention. The feeling of being watched is gone now, but his skin won't stop crawling, putting him on edge. It's the hangover, he rationalizes with himself. That last shot or three of tequila that Louis pressed into his hand last night was obviously a mistake.

In the dairy aisle the sensation pricks at him again, like a pair of eyes watching him with a burning gaze despite the chilly air. This time when Niall glances back over his shoulder, he's not sure who's more startled: himself, or the guy staring at him intently with wide, buggy eyes. He's tall and lanky with a cloud of dark hair that hangs down past his shoulders, pink lips parted in surprise, and he promptly disappears around the corner the second he realizes he's been caught out.

“Hey!” Niall shouts after him, because it may not be a crime to watch someone in a grocery store, but it's fucking weird to be so obvious about it. Abandoning his cart, Niall breaks into a slow jog, the fastest speed his pounding head can handle, and rounds the end of the aisle just in time to see a leg clad in dark skinny jeans and an offensively sparkly boot vanish through a pair of swinging doors that lead to the giant walk-in cooler behind the milk section.

“Well, fuck,” Niall says to no one in particular.

-

He doesn't tell Liam or Louis about it, because after the fact, it doesn't seem like there's even a story to tell. Niall and his overactive imagination felt like he was being watched, and someone wearing weird boots snuck into the employee's only section of the grocery store. They live an hour from Vegas. Niall's seen weirder.

Louis' still in Vegas come Sunday night, working a few extra shifts before the first of the month comes and he has to cough up rent money, so Niall's on his own for the show.

Settling into his chair, Niall smooths over his notes as he waits for the commercial break to end and the intro music to play its familiar eerie tones. The show itself is generally fairly unscripted; Niall introduces a topic, some kind of unsolved mystery or paranormal phenomenon, and makes sure he has enough material to talk about it for his two hour timeslot. More often than not, he gets sidetracked on various tangents when the call line starts lighting up, but that's the best part of the show: the wild theories his callers offer up like it's the gospel truth. The station's producer must like it as well, because Niall hasn't been canned yet, though the late hour means he's rarely face to face with anyone who's got the authority to do that, anyway.

Tonight's topic is a variation on one of Niall's favorite themes. “Hello,” he says, as the last note of the intro fades out, “and welcome to _Niall After Dark._ We've got a very controversial subject to discuss tonight, and I'm sorry to say no guest appearance from our friend Mr. Tomlinson. Louis, if you're out there listening, this one's for you.”

Grinning to himself, Niall lines up the edges of his notes. “We've discussed the existence of aliens on the show before, and the consensus seems to be that they're out there. Where our listeners disagree, however, is on what aliens want from us. It can't be our technology – if aliens are visiting Earth, then theirs has to far surpass ours. So what are the aliens really after? Our resources? Our land?” Niall pauses, letting the suspense build. “ _Us?_ ”

The phone lines are already lighting up, but Niall isn't ready to take a caller just yet. He's having too much fun with this one. Leaning in closer to the mic, Niall lowers his voice to something husky and intimate. “We've heard stories before of alien abductions; people waking up disoriented and confused, miles from home with no memory of how they got there. Even more horrifying, however, are the stories of those who remember. Strange tests, experiments… _violations_. What do aliens want from us? And what lengths will they go to get it?”

All right, so maybe he's laying it on a bit thick, but his audience is going to absolutely eat it up.

“Let's take our first caller. Hello, you're on the air. What's your name, love?”

While Cheryl from Salt Lake City recounts the time she was nearly abducted (“I mean, it turned out that the brownies were laced the whole time, so it's like, _was_ the light I saw really a spaceship, or just the bathroom light? It's hard to say, in hindsight, but I think it was a really close call.”), Niall's phone lights up with a new text. Half-listening to Cheryl's story, Niall thumbs open the lock screen.

_Talking about anal probing without me??? not cool neil!_

Niall grins down at his phone, tapping out a quick reply to Louis.

_Hope you enjoy the show mate! Give us a call if you want to share any of your probing experiences!_

Louis doesn't end up calling in, probably because he's stuck working and doesn't want to lose his job, but Niall gets plenty of others, the stories growing steadily raunchier as the night goes on. It's nights like these when he wishes he could do this full-time, make enough money that he wouldn't need to tend bar and serve coffee just to pay his bills.

“All right,” Niall says, glancing at the clock as two a.m. looms closer. “Let's take one last caller. You're on air, mate, who's this?”

“Hiii,” H says, and Niall feels a strange sense of relief that he promptly dismisses. No time to unpack that emotional baggage right now.

“H! How're you? Keeping busy, lad?”

Niall can almost hear the smile in H's voice. “Busy enough. But I called to say that, um. I think you're wrong about aliens.”

He usually thinks Niall's wrong about everything, and Niall can't tell if they're actually that different or if H is just trying to be difficult. “Go on, then. Tell us your theory.”

“Well,” H starts, dragging the word out an extra three syllables. “There's not much for, uh, aliens to learn from humans, is there? We – I mean, um, us _humans_ , we – people are always going to war, like, and using up nonrenewable resources. They're destroying their own planet, basically. So. I mean. Not much point in traveling three thousand light-years – or whatever, totally nonspecific distance! - just to observe humans.”

Niall taps his finger against his chin. “What do you think the point is, then, for aliens to travel all that nonspecific distance to Earth?”

He can hear H breathing down the line as his considers his answer. “Cool plants?” he says at last, and Niall can't help bark of laughter that escapes.

“Cool plants, really? You think aliens would come all the way to Earth for the cacti?”

“Or the Venus fly traps,” H suggests. “Those are sick.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Niall sees his phone light up with another text from Louis. He turns it over so the screen is face down. “See, that worries me. Why would aliens be after the man-eating plants, hmm, unless they had ill intentions towards humans?”

“They eat _flies_ , Niall,” H says, sounding a little offended. “Not men. And anyway, it's not just that they're carnivorous plants, it's that they subvert the entire Earth food chain. Like, animals produce energy by consuming plants, right, who get their energy through photosynthesis, but carnivorous plants – oh, no. I'm rambling, aren't I?”

“A bit,” Niall concedes, biting back another laugh. “But it's cute. You're passionate about plants, aren't you? Have something in common with your alien friends.”

“With my – ohh. You're joking.”

Niall shakes his head, even though there's no one around to see him do it. “Well-spotted.” Another glance at the clock reveals that it's getting dangerously late, and with something like regret Niall has to let H go to wrap up the show. He doesn't check his messages until he's heading out the door with a yawn, and the series of texts Louis' sent him honestly deserve to be ignored.

So that's what Niall does. Pocketing his phone without replying to Louis, he drives straight home to his empty house and crashes into bed with his trousers still on.

-

With Louis still out of town, the next few days are uneventful. Niall wakes up early for his shifts at the coffee shop around the corner from his house, and stays up late for his shifts at the local dive bar that boasts two dollar tap beer on Tuesdays. Between the two jobs he manages to work more or less full-time, which pays all his bills, and leaves time to spare for drinking with his mates and pretending he isn't wasting his life away under the desert moon.

Niall's gotten very good at pretending. He barely even winces anymore when he gets his student loan bills, still a startlingly large number considering he never managed to get himself an actual degree. It's like he's been in transit the past five years, waiting for his life to begin again, but he got lost on his way to the starting line. Zayn was a nice distraction; for a while anyway, but like all good things in Niall's life, he lost that one in the end, too.

Rolling his eyes at himself, because he usually isn't one for drowning in self-pity, Niall grabs for his phone, ready for a distraction. He's got the night off, so he texts Liam to convince him to come out for a quiet beer.

Liam must've stopped home to shower after work, because he doesn't smell like sweat and oil when he shows up at the bar, and his t-shirt is a clean, blinding white. Niall orders a bottle of beer so he has something to pick at, and proceeds to tear away bits of the label as Liam carries on about some irate customer and a faulty check engine light. He blinks back into focus when Liam says his name, and the concerned look on Liam's face tells him it wasn't the first time.

“You all right, bro? You seem kinda...” Liam trails off, letting his worried eyebrows fill in the blank.

“'M fine, sorry, just distracted.” It's not a complete lie, anyway.

Liam gives him a sympathetic look that would feel patronizing coming from anyone else. “Tell me about it,” he offers.

Fidgeting in his seat, Niall runs his thumbnail over the sticky residue left on his beer bottle where he didn't manage to peel the label off cleanly. “I dunno,” he says after a minute. “It's stupid.”

“Maybe not,” Liam says diplomatically, taking a sip of his own beer. “You know I won't judge.”

Niall releases his breath in a loud sigh. “It's just, ever since Zayn...” his throat closes around the word _left_. “Well, you know. It's made me think. Like, why am I here?”

“Niall. You're not, like--”

Niall takes in Liam's suddenly wide-eyes and winces. “Oh, god, no. No! Sorry, that was – I'm not explaining it well. I meant like, why am I still _here_ , in Nevada. What am I doing with my life, you know? This was never meant to be long term.”

Liam smiles a little crookedly. “Just 'til you found your feet, right?”

“Right.” With a hollow laugh, Niall swallows another mouthful of beer. When he doesn't offer anything else, Liam gently prompts, “If you left Nevada, where would you go? Back home?”

Ireland, Liam means. Sprawling green acres under cloudy skies, the faint smell of cow shit clinging to the wind no matter how far from the countryside you are. Niall realizes with a start that he's come to associate home with the dry heat of the desert, the way the earth seems to stretch endlessly before it's swallowed by the horizon, a line so far in the distance it goes fuzzy where it touches the sky.

But if the desert is home, then why does Niall still feel a restless itch beneath his skin, like this isn't where he belongs? He'd felt the same itch before, hadn't he, when he'd first packed his bags, his dad solemnly driving him to the airport and giving him a bone crushing hug goodbye. He can still remember the way it'd been drizzling outside, his last view of home blurred by rain-slicked windows. Can't forget the way his blood seemed to sing in his veins, a buzzing excitement at the promise of a world that was about to open up for him.

A broken promise, in the end, that left him with an itch too deep to scratch. Niall shakes his head, as if he can physically dislodge the feeling. It's not something he can put into words just yet, not something he's ready to voice out loud. “Ignore me, Payno. I've got you and Louis, I'll be all right. I'm just being maudlin.”

“ _Maudlin_ , now there's a word,” Liam says, but he lets Niall change the subject, content to wait without prying until Niall's ready to talk about it. Niall feels a surge of fondness swell in his chest.

“So,” Liam continues, his tone so carefully casual that Niall looks up from his attack on his shredded beer label to check Liam's expression. “Have you talked to Louis lately? Any idea when he's coming back to town?” It should be a safe topic, a shift away from Niall's existential crisis, or whatever, but the way that Liam's making steady eye contact with the wall just to the left of Niall's ear tells a different story.

“Dunno,” Niall says, shrugging one shoulder. “Hasn't he texted you?”

Liam traces his finger along the grain of wood in the table, giving the task more concentration that it requires. “You know he gets weird about breakups. He'll come around when he thinks I'm, I dunno, emotionally stable again.”

After Zayn left and Niall refused to get out of bed for two days, Louis crawled in next to him, only leaving his side to come back with a plate of steaming pizza rolls. Niall is fairly certain that Liam knows this story, because Louis burned his mouth eating them and wouldn't stop complaining about it for a week straight.

He clears his throat, takes the easy road. “Think he's gotta work this weekend, you know how it is.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Liam agrees, taking a few quick gulps of his beer. He tries out another smile, then, and it sits on his face a little more naturally. “Bet he was pissed that you talked about alien probing on the show without him.”

Niall raises his brows. “It's what he gets, isn't it, for leaving us for the bright lights of Vegas?”

Frowning with his entire face, Liam says, “Well, it's like you said – he's gotta work, right?”

Niall could point out that Louis would probably have to work a little less, if he weren't always filling his gas tank for the commute back to Pahrump. That there are garages closer to Vegas that Liam could easily find work at, because for all that he insists that he wants to stay close to his family, he only makes it home for Sunday dinner maybe once a month.

That's the funny thing about roots, though. Sometimes they're buried too deep to dig up without killing the whole plant, and sometimes they get so hopelessly entwined with one another that it's impossible to separate them, no matter how hard you try.

“Right you are, Payno. Another drink?”

“God, yes,” Liam says, climbing out of his seat to head to the bar.

-

Niall's running late to work already, so of course that's when he notices the fuel gauge hovering dangerously close to empty. Swearing under his breath at the mocking red _E_ , Niall pulls into the nearest petrol station, killing the engine. The sky is still the soft gray of early dawn and Niall can't help the yawn that stretches his jaw, feeling groggy from the few hours of sleep he was able to catch.

He unscrews the petrol cap, motions on autopilot, and after shoving the fuel pump in, leaves it to its job to wander inside the store in search of something caffeinated. Near the back, he finds a little coffee station, and plucks a Styrofoam cup from the stack gratefully.

The cup is about half-full, steam curling up enticingly, when Niall feels it. That itch at the back of his neck, the shivery sensation of someone's eyes on him.

He doesn't flinch, doesn't turn around, just watches as the coffee spills into his cup like it's the most fascinating thing he's seen all day. He's focused so intently that when a packet of crisps hits the floor with a smack, loud in the relative silence of the petrol station, he startles badly, spilling hot coffee over his fingers.

“Shitting fuck!” he swears violently, setting the coffee down on the counter to suck his throbbing fingers into his mouth. The pain distracts him for a few seconds, and by the time he remembers what made him jump in the first place, it's too late.

Niall turns around just in time to see the heel of a glittering boot disappear down the next aisle. There's a packet of Doritos lying in the middle of the floor, forgotten, and the bell above the door chimes a moment later.

Stooping to pick up the Doritos, Niall shoves them onto the nearest shelf next to a selection of gummy shapes. He doesn't bother trying to chase after shadows.

He already knows that by the time he steps outside, the lot will already be empty.

-

Louis blows back into town late Sunday afternoon, helping himself to a beer from Niall's fridge and depositing himself on Niall's sofa like he owns the place.

Not moving from where he's sprawled in his armchair, Niall narrows his eyes at Louis. “You don't have a spare key,” he says suspiciously.

“And you don't hide yours very well,” Louis retorts, tipping his beer towards Niall in a mock salute. “Shush now, I'm trying to watch the game.”

Niall mutes it, just to be a dick, and feels his lips pull into a smile when Louis shoots him a withering glare. “Honestly, Niall. Some of us were _watching_ that.”

“You could invade Liam's living room,” Niall suggests, toying with the remote. “He'd let you pick any channel you like, I bet.”

“He only gets basic cable, you know that. C'mon, turn the sound back on. I hear enough of your voice on the radio.” Louis is staring at the screen, and his gaze doesn't flick towards Niall even once. Interesting. Niall clears his throat, takes the hard road.

“For a dealer, you have a really shit poker face,” he tells Louis, arching an eyebrow, and Louis finally looks over, an incredulous expression twisting his features.

“What exactly is that supposed to mean?” he asks in a clipped voice, immediately on the defense, hackles raised.

“I just think it's interesting, is all,” Niall says, aiming for a casual tone. His pulse is racing, and he runs his thumb back and forth over the smooth plastic edge of the remote. “That whenever Liam breaks up with his girlfriend, my sofa suddenly gets more comfortable.”

Louis' eyes flash dangerously. “Your sofa always sucks. I'm just being a good friend, giving Liam space.”

“That for his sake, or yours?” Niall asks softly. When Louis doesn't respond other than grinding his teeth together, Niall adds, “You know he thinks you're avoiding him, Lou.”

That, at least, gets a reaction. “He thinks I'm – but I didn't mean – I'm not _avoiding_ him, fuck. What did he say to you?”

Niall shakes his head. “This is a conversation you should be having with him, innit?”

Setting down his mostly full beer, Louis scrubs a hand over his face. “You can be a real asshole sometimes, you know that?” When Niall opens his mouth to retort, Louis tacks on, “No, fuck you, I'm being serious. Just because things with you and Zayn worked out--” he cuts himself off at the grimace on Niall's face. “You know what I mean. Your arrangement, or whatever the fuck, before he – look, it's not like that, with me and Liam, okay. _He's_ not like that.”

“Wow, mate, not sure you could've made that sound more insulting if you tried,” Niall says dryly, mostly to cover the sting of hurt in his chest.

“You started it,” Louis says like a sullen four-year-old, but opens his arms with an eyeroll a second later. Taking the invitation, Niall scrambles out of the armchair and onto the sofa, tucking himself into Louis' side. Louis wraps his arm around Niall's shoulder, his thumb tracing patterns against the fabric of Niall's shirt, which is the closest to an apology he'll ever get.

“I've got too much to lose, you know?” Louis says, breath tickling Niall's hair, which is the closest to a confession that he's ever come.

And yeah, Niall knows. “A lot to gain, too,” he points out, just to be contrary, and Louis pinches his arm.

“Ow! I'm just saying--”

“Yeah, yeah, I know what you're saying, you pervert.” Louis sighs. “It's just not a risk I'm willing to take.”

Louis' a lot more resilient than he thinks he is, but Niall knows first hand that that lesson isn't a fun one to learn.

“You coming on the show tonight?” he asks after a while, when Louis' thumb has stilled and his breathing has gone soft and even.

“'Course,” Louis says, a yawn in his voice. “Your ratings plummet without me. Can't have your show getting canceled, can we?”

Niall buries his smile in Louis' shoulder. “Idiot.”

-

Louis makes Niall stop for Chinese on the way to the radio station (“It's _hardly_ a detour, Nialler.” “It is literally five miles out of the way, Louis!”), but he gets an extra side of rice to share with Niall, so it's all right.

“What are we talking about tonight, then?” Louis asks around a mouthful of half-chewed chicken, sauce staining his lips before he swipes his tongue out to lick it away.

“Eh, was thinking something about messages from beyond the grave, you know – disembodied voices caught on tape, weird dreams about dead loved ones giving you advice, that sort of thing.”

Catching Niall's eye over the rim of his Coke, Louis takes a sip before saying, “Still can't believe you talked about anal probing without me. That's just mean, bro.”

“Your infatuation with probing is honestly a little concerning, Lou. Finish your chicken, would you? Show starts in five.”

Louis' about as well behaved as he always is on air, which is to say, not at all. He keeps Niall laughing, though, in the safe cocoon of the radio booth, which is the one place in the world that Niall is always unequivocally happy.

They're about halfway through the show, tonight's callers a crap shoot of genuinely eerie stories and anecdotes that sound suspiciously like plotlines from _Ghost_ _Whisperer_ , when H's familiar rasp greets them with an enthusiastic, “Hiiii!”

“Well, if it isn't our Nialler's favorite caller. Oh look, he's blushing.”

“Shut up, Louis. I'm not blushing.” He is, a bit, but his listeners don't need to know that. “Someday we're going to get a webcam for the show, I will show all our listeners just how much bullshi- crap, bull _crap_ – Louis really says.” A massive bluff he hopes he never gets called on.

“I'm hurt, Niall, I really am,” Louis says, grinning wickedly, and Niall rightly ignores him.

“Sorry, H. Don't pay Louis any attention, it only encourages him. So, tell us, d'you have any stories about messages from the dead? Eerie coincidences, unexplained noises caught on tape?”

“Oh, no, not really,” H says. “I think those noises are generally explainable, if you approach it scientifically, and anyway humans – uh, people – are notorious for finding patterns in random stimuli. Something about how your brain, like, processes information.”

Niall bites his lip against a smile. “Uh huh. Debunking our mysteries with your usual logic, aren't you, H?”

“I don't know,” H says slowly, dragging out the vowels like he's savoring the taste. “I kind of like the idea of people sending messages after they've died. It's quite nice, isn't it?”

Niall cocks his head. “So are we finding patterns that aren't there, or is it actually our loved ones trying to tell us something? Can't have it both ways, H.”

“Can't you?” H says, and Louis snorts into the microphone. “I just mean, like. It's not about whether the messages are real or not. What matters is if you _believe_ that they're real. People put a lot of faith into things like that, and I think that's what's important, in the end.”

“Yeah, that sounds like a load of crap to me,” Louis says, and Niall swats at his arm.

“That's an interesting theory, love,” he offers charitably. “Food for thought, innit?”

Louis rolls his neck. “Dunno, what I'm getting from this is that it doesn't matter if, for example, Bigfoot is real or not. It's whether I _believe_ in him. Have I got that right, H?”

H laughs. “Yeah, maybe.”

“Well, thanks for the interesting contribution, mate. Did you have any plant facts you wanted to share before we let you go?” He's crossing his fingers that H says yes, even if it means he'll get an earful from Louis after the show.

“Oh, um. No? That's not why I – I mean, I didn't call to talk about messages from the dead, or plants or anything.”

Niall exchanges a glance with Louis. “Then can I ask why you've called in tonight, H?”

Over the crackling connection, H takes an audible breath. “Well, I was wondering, um. Like, I was just thinking about it, and, like. Do you want to get coffee with me sometime?” The last part comes out quickly, so unlike H's usual slow cadence that it takes Niall a second to parse out the words.

“Um. What?” Niall doesn't need to look at the expression on Louis' face to know that his cheeks are suddenly flaming. His face feels like it might actually be on fire.

“Do you want to get coffee with me sometime?” H repeats more slowly.

“Are you askin' me on a _date_?” Niall says a little incredulously. “Over the _radio_?”

“Um. Yeah? But only because I don't know you in person. Unless this is weird? Oh no, this is weird, isn't it?”

“Extremely,” Louis cuts in, and the grin that crawls across his face is pure evil. “But you should see what color Niall is right now. I think it's a yes, H. He'd love to get coffee with you sometime.”

“ _What are you doing?_ ” Niall hisses, and Louis cups a hand around his ear, like he didn't catch what Niall said. “Louis--”

“Can you stay on the line, H? We'll get the details sorted out off air. Niall, you wanna take the next caller?”

Niall pantomimes slitting his throat while trying to kill Louis with his eyes, but they still have an hour left of the show before he can actually murder him. Pulling himself together by a thread, Niall adopts his most professional radio voice and presses the button to put the next call through. “All right, while Louis deals with a little technical difficulty, let's move on. Hello, you're on air. What's your name, love?”

-

“I'm going to kill you.”

“Plenty of desert to hide my body in, but I just don't think you've got the grit to go through with it. You're too pure, Niall. Murder doesn't become you.”

“With my bare hands,” Niall adds for good measure. “Seriously, Louis, what the fuck?”

“Oh, fuck off, I did you a favor.” Busy dumping the rest of his cold Chinese in the bin, it takes Louis a minute to notice the thunderous expression on Niall's face. “ _What_ ,” he says, exasperated, once he finally looks up, which is fucking rich.

“How, exactly, was agreeing to a date on my behalf a _favor_?”

Louis shrugs. “You would've said no, or laughed it off or something.”

“Right. Because I don't want to go on a date with him. He could be a – a serial killer, or something!”

“Ah, see, that's where we disagree,” Louis says, and Niall is going to actually strangle him, right here in the studio. “You _say_ you don't want to go out with him, but you've also said that you're not really flirting with him on air, and that you don't really smile whenever he calls in, and that you don't think about his voice when you jerk off.”

Niall doesn't blush. He doesn't. “I don't recall ever telling you about my wanking habits.”

“That's not actually a denial, but even if it was, I wouldn't believe you.” Clapping a hand on Niall's shoulder, Louis steers him towards the door. “Don't worry about it. Liam and I are going to chaperone, all right, and if he turns out to be a serial killer, then Liam will just tackle him or something.”

“That is a terrible plan,” Niall tells him.

“Don't tell me you're not dying to know what the mysterious H looks like,” Louis says, pushing open the door, Niall at his heels.

Stepping out into the dry heat of the night, Niall grouses, refusing to concede the point, “I'm still going to kill you.”

-

Liam, of course, is one-hundred percent on board.

“And what if he turns out to be a serial killer, hmm? Do you two really want to be accessories to homicide?” Niall's not sure the law quite works that way, but it's not as if Liam and Louis are brilliant legal minds. Unfortunately, Liam isn't swayed.

“Just don't drink anything he could've slipped something in, or let him take you anywhere isolated, and yell for us if you think he's about to pull a weapon on you.”

Niall catches Liam's eye in the rear view mirror. “You've been watching too many crime shows, Leemo. Are you going to jump in front of the bullet, too, if he pulls a gun?”

Liam grins. “Left my superman shirt at home today, I'm afraid.”

There must be a particularly interesting patch of desert outside the passenger window, because Louis appears to be staring at it intently. If Liam still had a girlfriend, Louis would be busy making quips about his superhuman strength or his bulletproof chest, or whatever other comment he could pass off as not actually flirting since Liam was off the market, after all. Generously, Niall lets it slide without commenting.

Pulling up outside the coffee shop on the far side of town that H suggested, Niall shoves the jeep into park before turning off the ignition. He sits for a moment to brace himself, hands still gripping the steering wheel. Fingers curl around his wrist, squeezing gently, and Niall glances over to catch Louis' encouraging smile.

“Don't be nervous, Nialler. It's just coffee.” He sounds too reasonable, his thumb digging into Niall's pulse.

“Coffee that could be poisoned,” Niall mutters darkly.

“If you start frothing at the mouth, we'll call poison control,” Liam promises.

Releasing Niall's wrist from his grip after one last squeeze, Louis adds, “And if you run out of anything to talk about, just ask him about his favorite flower. You'll have like, ten minutes, guaranteed, before you have to think of anything else to say.”

“Thanks Louis, that's helpful, really.” Squaring his shoulders, Niall takes a deep breath. “Okay. I'm ready. Remember, two minutes, and then you guys come in after me. And try to not to be too obvious, all right?”

“Subtle is my middle name,” Louis says, and even Liam looks skeptical.

“We'll do our best,” comes his diplomatic reply, which is about the most Niall could hope for. Unbuckling his seat belt, he climbs out of the jeep, eyeing the parking lot warily. They came early to make sure they'd beat H here, because it's one thing to bring your mates along in case your blind date turns out to be a serial killer, and quite another for your maybe-serial killer date to know you've got a chaperone, especially on the off-chance they turn out not to be a serial killer at all.

H claimed to already know what Niall looks like, as Louis explained in a blow by blow description of his off-air conversation with him (“There's a picture, on the website?” “Ah, so you're after more than just his charming personality, are you?” “He's cute, but don't tell him I said that.”), so Niall settles himself at a table facing the door to wait.

Liam and Louis shuffle in about two minutes later in full spy mode, barely even glancing in Niall's direction as they jump in line, bickering about how much creamer is appropriate to put in coffee, from what Niall can overhear.

Leg jiggling beneath the table, Niall plucks a napkin from the holder, folding it into smaller and smaller squares as he waits. His gaze flicks between the door, stomach turning over itself every time it opens, and to where Liam and Louis have sat down a few tables away, still arguing, although it seems to have progressed to which Avenger would win in a barfight.

He's folded his napkin over so many times that it won't bend anymore, and has taken to flicking it from one end of the table to another, when the door opens again and he glances up on autopilot.

Well. Not that far up. His gaze doesn't get any further than foot-level, actually, because the person who's just stepped inside is wearing a familiar pair of sparkling boots.

Before he can even think it through, Niall's reacting, practically jumping out of his seat. His eyes snap up, skating recklessly over long legs shoved into a pair of dark, skin tight jeans and a flowing, billowy shirt with more than few buttons left undone. Niall finally settles his gaze onto the man's face: big, buggy sea-green eyes and a wide, pink mouth framed with a cloud of dark hair that hangs past his shoulders. He looks weirdly like an attractive frog wearing a wig, and his smile is a little nervous around the edges.

There's a gentle touch at Niall's elbow and a quiet, “all right, bro?” from Louis on his other side that settles his nerves a bit. Niall watches as the frog man looks around the room, smile brightening when his gaze lands on Niall, and he starts to pick his way across the room.

“Hiii,” he says once he's reached Niall's table, and Niall _knows_ that voice. “I'm--”

“You're the guy from the grocery store. And the petrol station,” Niall interrupts, and H's smile dims a few watts.

Louis' eyes dart back and forth between Niall and H. “What now?”

Niall narrows his gaze. “Have you been stalking me?”

Holding out his hands, palms up and placating, H says with a wince, “No, no, I promise, I wasn't. I was just, uh.”

“Following me around town? _Spying_ on me?”

H looks genuinely distressed now. “No, I wasn't – it was, I mean, it was coincidence, but I recognized you, and--”

“Hold up,” Louis interrupts. “How do you have a stalker that I don't know about, Niall? Why is this brand new information?” He sounds more upset about being kept in the dark than the possibility that Niall's favorite caller has been _stalking_ him. On his other side, Liam steps even closer, draping his arm over Niall's shoulders. The move might be meant to look casual, but Niall can feel the tension in Liam's muscles, like he really is Superman ready to spring to Niall's defense at a moment's notice.

“I thought it was nothing,” Niall tries to explain. “I thought--”

“I was _nervous_ ,” H bursts out, wringing his hands. He's got long fingers, and he's wearing as many rings as Zayn used to. Maybe still does, Niall doesn't know. “I saw you that time at the grocery store, and I recognized, I mean, I had seen your picture on the website before, and I knew who you were, but you looked tired, like maybe you didn't want to be bothered--” Niall has to concede that point “--and I just. What's the expression? Chickened out.”

“You ran into the walk-in cooler. Literally ran.”

H ducks his head. Louis makes a sound halfway between a laugh and a snort.

“And the petrol station?” Niall prompts, when it becomes obvious H isn't going to add anything else to the conversation.

“Oh, well.” Anxiously, H fiddles with one of his rings, sliding it up to the first knuckle and back down. “I recognized your jeep, from the grocery store--”

“Did you _watch me_ in the _car park_?”

Louis has to sit down, he's wheezing so hard, and Liam's thumb is digging into the back of Niall's neck where he's still holding tightly onto Niall's shoulder.

H glances at Louis, then Liam, before looking back at Niall. “Do you want me to say no, or do you want me to tell the truth? I feel like you want me to say no.”

“I want you not to stalk me!”

“Oh,” H says, blinking slowly at Niall. “Well, that's why I invited you for coffee. I thought we could, you know, meet and clear the air. And that I'd be less nervous if I had time to prepare myself.” H beams. “See how well it worked?”

“Yeah, bro, not sure I'd call this going well,” Louis says, wiping at his eyes. “This is honestly the most embarrassing date I've ever witnessed, and I've gone on _a lot_ of double dates with Liam.”

Without looking, Liam unerringly reaches out and taps Louis' junk with his knuckles. Louis doubles over with a groan, and Liam looks grimly satisfied. H watches the exchange with a weirdly serious expression on his face, eyebrows furrowed like he's trying to decode what exactly is happening. Niall might be more sympathetic, under different circumstances.

“Um,” H says after a long minute. “Do you. I mean. I could buy you a coffee?” he offers hopefully.

“You gotta admire that rebound,” Louis gasps, still hunched with his hands now protectively cupped over his balls, and whose side is he on, honestly?

“Okay,” Niall says. “Time out.” He makes a _T_ with his hands, and H copies the gesture, looking down at his own hands with mild confusion. “You,” Niall adds, pointing at H. “Wait here. Don't move.”

H's face clears and he nods. “Don't move. Got it.”

Eyeing him warily, Niall grabs both Louis and Liam by the elbow, dragging them towards the back of the coffee shop until they're out of earshot of H, if they whisper.

“This is fucking weird,” Niall immediately whispers. “He's fucking weird. I think we should abort the mission.”

Liam looks thoughtful. “Was this a mission or a date? I thought it was a date.”

“No, no, no, Liam, _we_ were on the mission. Niall was on the date,” Louis corrects, as if it fucking matters.

“Does it fucking matter? Look, can we focus, here? How am I going to get out of this? He knows where I work, he knows what my jeep looks like – fuck, he probably knows where I live. This is a _disaster_.”

“I don't know where you live,” H says and Niall whirls around, one hand clutching his chest. He doesn't know what H's glittering boots are made of, but those soles were silent.

“Jesus _Christ_.”

“Sorry,” H adds, looking contrite. “I know you told me not to move. But I heard you whispering--”

Niall's knees feel weak. “From all the way over _t_ _here_?”

“Um.” H looks unsure, suddenly. “Yes? No. No? I'm not sure,” he finally settles on.

“Yeah, that's not really one of those middle ground type of questions, bro,” Louis observes.

“Sorry,” H repeats, all wide green eyes. It's a bit like staring into a lighthouse, only the lighthouse is staring back at you. “I just, like. It's okay, if you don't want to go on a date with me. I never meant to, like, pressure you. And I promise, uh, I'm really not stalking you.” He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, then has to throw a hand out to catch himself on the back of a chair before he overbalances. “Um. So. Thanks? Sorry. I'll just… go.”

Niall watches him take three steps before he sighs. “Wait.”

H stops, half turning to look back at Niall over one shoulder. He's cute, in a bug-eyed sort of way. If you're into that sort of thing. Before today, Niall would not have included himself in that camp.

“Yeah?” H asks.

Squaring his shoulders, Niall takes a deep breath. “You wanna buy me a cup of coffee?”

The smile that splits H's face feels like the sun breaking through on cloudy day.

“Okay.”

-

Liam and Louis settle themselves a few tables away, and if H finds it odd – or insulting – he doesn't mention it. He buys Niall a coffee and gets a water for himself, long fingers wrapping around the bottle as he takes a seat across from Niall. Underneath the table, his ankle knocks into Niall's, but Niall can't tell if it's an accident or not. H doesn't seem like he's got the greatest control of his limbs, not unlike a gangly teenager who's hit a sudden growth spurt before his coordination could catch up.

Niall takes a sip of coffee and winces when it burns his tongue. H just blinks at him. His shoulders are hunched and a gleaming cross necklace dangles from his neck, visible where he fell a few buttons short of decent. It takes a lot of effort for Niall to drag his gaze back up to H's face, which is a stupid name, honestly.

Almost as soon as the thought occurs to him, he blurts it out, “What's your real name?”

H's mouth moves like he's trying to sound out a word he doesn't know how to pronounce, but no noise comes out.

“Well?” Niall presses. “Your parents didn't name you H, for fuck's sake.”

“They could've,” H mutters, petulant, but finally sighs. “It's, uh. It's Harry.”

“Huh.” Niall leans back in his seat. “I thought maybe it was something really weird.”

Harry brightens. “You think it's normal? I wasn't sure.”

“There's not much you are sure about, is there?”

Shrugging, Harry unscrews the cap of his water and takes a sip. He probably doesn't need to hollow his cheeks like that, but Niall appreciates the show. “I'm sure that asking you out was a good idea.” Under the table, his ankle knocks against Niall's again.

“Quite the charmer, aren't you?” he manages.

The corner of Harry's mouth pulls up into a slow grin, and Niall gets the distinct feeling the tide has suddenly changed. “So, uh. What's your favorite flower, then?”

“Oh, god,” Harry groans, hiding his face in his hands. “That's such a tough question.”

-

Niall never actually finds out Harry's favorite flower, but no one gets murdered either, so all in all things could have gone worse. He leaves with a new number in his mobile and smug looks from Liam and Louis, but since he drove them and has no qualms about leaving them on the side of the road, they keep their comments to themselves.

Mostly.

Honestly, Louis deserved to walk home.

-

_Hiiii. How do you feel about golf? H_

Shaking his head at Harry's message, Niall taps out a quick reply. They've been texting all week, and Harry still won't quit with the stupid signature. Niall can't decide if it's endearing or annoying.

_You dont need to sign texts I know its you. But I love golf !_

Barely 30 seconds later Harry's next message comes through.

_It's more personalized. Pick you up Saturday? You can bring Liam and Louis if you want. H_

Niall chews on his nail. He hasn't seen Harry in person since the coffee shop, and while some of his texts are a little out there, overall there have been no signs that he's going to kidnap Niall and make his skin into a suit, or whatever.

Wondering just when he set the bar so low, Niall texts back, _Fishing for my address are ya ? Knew you wanted to know where I live !_

Harry's reply takes a little longer this time, and Niall's bitten his nail down to the quick before his mobile buzzes again.

_A stalker wouldn't need to ask for your address, would they? They'd already be outside your house. H_

_If I open my blinds am I gonna see you standing in my garden??? Be honest !_

_I'm always honest. Do you want me to pick you up or no? H_

Niall stares down at his phone for a long moment before he types out his address and hits send.

-

Louis is less than thrilled when Niall tells him.

“What the fuck. Golf? Are you serious, Niall?”

Shoving the phone between his ear and shoulder, Niall leans down to pick up his laundry basket. “Look, I get that golf's not your thing--”

“Understatement of the century. It's _boring_ , Niall. I won't do it.”

Niall's not above begging. Setting his laundry basket down on top of the washer, he starts sorting out his lights and darks. “I am asking you, Louis, as a personal favor. Not to mention that you're the one that got me into this fucking mess in the first place. This whole thing is your fault.”

“You can't blame golf on me, bro. I will take credit when you finally get laid though.”

Niall closes his eyes. “Louis.”

He sighs loudly, the sound crackling in Niall's ear. “Do we at least get to rent a golf cart?”

Someone will probably end up dead, which will at least liven up the game for Louis. “Sure, whatever.”

“Then I'm in,” Louis agrees. “I'll let Liam know our plans.” He disconnects the call before Niall can respond.

-

Harry is not only on time Saturday, but five minutes early.

Which means that they've probably got another fifteen or twenty before Liam and Louis show up, unapologetically late as always. Niall's not sure how long it takes to kill someone and hide their body, but Harry's wearing another billowy silk shirt – this time with flamingos all over it – and maybe Niall's projecting, but he's sure Harry won't want to get blood all over it. So he's probably safe.

Harry unfolds himself from the car legs first, and he's traded out the glitter boots for a more practical brown. Niall frowns down at his own golf clothes and wonders if he's missed a joke.

“Hi Niall!” Harry says brightly, running his fingers through his hair to push it back off his forehead. He offers Niall a hand, but when Niall goes to shake it, Harry just kind of holds it for a minute, smiling serenely.

“Right,” Niall says, pulling his hand back. “Uh, the other boys'll be here in a minute. You want anything to drink?”

Harry doesn't answer right away, glancing around with mild curiosity.

“You've got a lawn,” he observes after a minute.

Niall nods. “Yeah, yeah I do.”

“It's very small.”

“Well.” Niall rocks back onto his heels, squinting up at the cloudless sky. “We live in the desert.”

Dropping down to his haunches, Harry runs his fingers over the grass. It's a little wilted, not nearly as green as the Irish countryside, and requires so much watering to keep it alive it's got to be an environmental hazard, even though it's barely five feet across. Niall's quite proud of it.

“Niall, why do you have a tiny yard?” Harry asks, chin tilted up so he can catch Niall's eye.

Niall shrugs. “Reminds me of home.”

“Home,” Harry repeats, like he's tasting the word. “And where is home?”

The laugh is surprised out of him. “You can't tell from the accent?”

Harry cocks his head to the side. “No?”

“Oh.” That doesn't usually happen to Niall. “I'm from Ireland, originally. Moved here a few years ago.”

“Why?” When Niall doesn't immediately answer, Harry pushes to his feet again, wiping his hands on his thighs. “Sorry, sorry, was that too personal? Forget I asked.” He slips his hands into his front pockets in a gesture that should look natural, but doesn't. “I'm just glad you ended up here,” Harry adds, and his weird lighthouse gaze is so sincere that Niall has to look away.

“How 'bout that drink, then?”

“Just water, please,” Harry says, and waits on Niall's tiny lawn while Niall disappears inside to grab a couple of water bottles from his fridge.

-

Liam and Louis roll up an impressive thirty-seven minutes late, during which time Harry has shared a rambling, uneventful story about a neat rock he found while hiking that didn't really seem to have an ending, run his fingers through his hair a good twenty times, and offered to help Niall apply his SPF 50.

“Thanks, but I'm just putting a little on my face,” Niall told him, smoothing the sunscreen over his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose while Harry watched him intently. “Think I got it on my own, mate.”

“I could rub it in for you,” Harry insisted and Niall abruptly changed the subject before he said something stupid like _god, yes_ and had to deal with Harry's long fingers all over his face.

When the other boys finally arrive, they all pile into Harry's car, Liam and Louis climbing into the backseat and Niall riding shotgun. Harry drives with the windows down, hot desert air blowing against their skin, and no matter what Louis might say later, Niall does not get distracted watching the way it ruffles Harry's long hair back from his face.

Harry was insistent that he take care of booking their tee-time, and while it was maybe a little later than Niall would have preferred in deference to Louis' inability to get up before 10am, the heat's not yet stifling and Niall's looking forward to a solid 18 holes.

His optimism takes a nosedive when Harry pulls into the car park.

“Um,” he says as Harry turns into a parking spot, the rings on his fingers glinting brightly in the sunlight as he cranks the wheel. “Harry, when you said golf, did you mean--”

Shoving the car into park, Harry turns towards him, eyebrows furrowed. “Is this not what golf means?”

And, well, to be fair, Harry's not completely off base. It's just that Niall was expecting sprawling green acres and an impossible sand trap and maybe a minor accident with the golf cart if they forgot to keep an eye on Louis. Instead, there's--

“Oh, sick! Is that a giant clown? Liam, I bet you ten, no, wait, _twenty_ bucks that I can get a hole-in-one on the clown one.” Louis mimes putting the ball with a neat snap of his wrists. “Straight between those gap teeth, baby.”

“Niall, you didn't say we'd be mini golfing,” Liam adds, bouncing with excitement. “I love mini golf!”

Harry's gaze flicks between the rear view mirror and Niall. “You were expecting regular-sized golf,” he says with dawning realization.

Niall looks down at his brightly patterned golf trousers and his lucky golf shoes. “What gave you that impression?”

“Sorry,” Harry says, wringing his hands. “I didn't know--”

“Don't be sorry, bro, golf is the literal worst,” Louis chimes in from the backseat. He shoves open the door, climbing out of the car. “Mini golf, on the other hand...”

Liam's already following him out of the car, but Harry lingers, looking at Niall with worried eyes. “You're not mad, are you? I just want you to have a nice time. I thought huma-- uh, people, I mean-- I thought everyone liked mini golf.”

Niall reaches out to gently squeeze Harry's wrist, his hands still at 10 and 2 on the steering wheel. “It's fine, Harry. You definitely made Louis' day, and if Louis' happy, then the rest of us'll be happy.”

A hesitant smile tugs at Harry's mouth, but he doesn't look fully convinced. “I wanted to make _your_ day,” he says mulishly, and Niall laughs.

“C'mon, then. Let's go beat Liam and Louis. That'll make my whole week.” With one last lingering squeeze, he unwraps his fingers from around Harry's wrist and follows Liam and Louis out of the car.

-

Liam and Louis have no appreciation for the game, even if it's just mini golf, and blow through each hole as fast as they can, bickering all the while over their scorecard. Harry seems content to linger, to feel the sun on his face and the heft of the club in his hands, which is something Niall admires in a person.

His posture, though, is absolutely terrible.

He lines up a shot, lip bitten in concentration and shoulders hunched around his ears, while Niall leans his weight on his own club, watching with a critical eye. Harry is singularly focused as he carefully putts the ball, and frowns tragically when his shot goes wide, missing the hole by a few inches.

“With my knowledge and understanding of the golf game, I feel like I should be a lot better at golf,” he says, still frowning.

Niall shakes his head. “You're too tense, mate. You can understand the game all you like, but unless you relax a bit, soften your hands, you're gonna keep hitting the ball all over the place.”

“I'm relaxed,” Harry protests. “And my hands are very soft!”

Cocking an eyebrow at him, Niall takes his stance, squaring his shoulders and holding his club with a loose, easy grip. He swings the club neatly, and they both watch as his ball rolls over the green, bouncing off the wood railing at the far end at exactly the right angle to ricochet into the hole.

“Show off,” Harry mumbles, not quite under his breath, and walks over to his ball to take his next shot. He looks like he's making a conscious effort not to grip the club so tight, but his shoulders are still hunched awkwardly as he shuffles his feet into position.

“Wait,” Niall calls, and Harry looks up at him, an open expression his face. “Just, like...” trailing off, he closes the distance between them, circling around Harry until he's standing behind him. He places both hands on Harry's shoulders and can feel the way his muscles are straining, locked into place. The breeze ruffles his hair back and Niall gets a waft of coconut that he tries vainly to ignore.

“Take a few deep breaths, in and out, until your shoulders relax a little,” he coaches, and beneath his palms, the tension in Harry's shoulders slowly melts away. The fabric of his flamingo shirt is insanely soft, and Niall can't resist running his fingertips over it as he pulls his hands away, backing up a step or two. “Now, you know the shot you want to take? The angle you're playing?”

“Yeah,” Harry says a little faintly. He clears his throat, and repeats more firmly, “Yeah, yeah I do.”

“Good. Take another deep breath, and don't swing until you're ready.”

“Okay,” Harry says, nodding seriously, and does as Niall told him, chest rising and falling a few times before he swings his club in a smooth arc. The ball glances off a rock obstacle and directly towards the hole, circling the rim a few times before it falls in. Harry's face lights up.

“ _Yes_ ,” he cheers, pumping his fist in the air, and then he turns towards Niall, throwing his arms open wide.

Niall's never been opposed to a well-earned victory hug, so he wraps his own arms around Harry's neck. It's an easy reach, because although Harry has a couple inches on him, he still slouches something terrible. One of Harry's hands snakes its way over Niall's middle until he's gripping Niall's hip, pulling him in closer, and for the three seconds it lasts before they topple over, it's a great hug. Then somehow Harry is on the ground underneath him, laughing breathlessly, and Niall's legs are tangled up in his, his forearm pinned under Harry's back so he can't pull away.

“You're an idiot,” Niall informs him, bracing his free hand on Harry's chest so that he can pull away far enough to meet Harry's eye. “You're gonna get us kicked out before we even get through five holes.”

Harry just grins up at him, eyes scrunched almost all the way shut against the harsh glare of the sun. “They can't kick us out for enthusiasm, Niall. It wouldn't be right.”

Niall opens his mouth up to argue, when he should be focusing on untangling his limbs from Harry's, but the sound of a loud splash distracts him. “Oh no,” Niall says, wrenching his arm free so that he can sit all the way up. “Please don't let that be Louis, please don't let that be Louis, please don't--”

“LOUIS, YOU ASSHOLE!”

Liam's shout is answered by a cackling laugh that carries across the course, and even though Niall can't see them from this angle, he's about 100% sure that they're by the big pond near the seventh hole. Or, in Liam's case, _in_ the big pond near the seventh hole.

There's a second splash not ten seconds later, and Niall exchanges a glance with Harry.

“WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK, LIAM?” Louis shouts, and Niall buries his face in Harry's neck to muffle his laughter.

-

The manager is nice, but firm, when she kicks them out, arms crossed resolutely over her chest. Liam and Louis both are soaked to the bone, t-shirts clinging wetly to their skin and hair plastered to their skulls, matching grins on their faces. Niall and Harry leave them to dry in the sun on the outdoor patio of the hole-in-the-wall bar that butts up against the mini golf course with promises to return with a pitcher of cold beer.

“I like your friends,” Harry tells him when they're leaning against the bar, waiting for the lone, scraggly-bearded bartender to make his way over to take their order. “They're nice.”

“Either you're lying, or you're crazy,” Niall says, reaching for a handful of nuts from the little dish on the bar. He crunches down on something that looks like a peanut, but tastes like death. He grabs a napkin to spit the half-chewed imposter peanut into, and Harry must be crazy, because he doesn't even bat an eye.

“I told you, I'm always honest,” Harry insists. “And it was nice of them, to come on a – what's it called? A double date with us.”

Wiping his mouth with the spitty napkin, Niall shakes his head. “Oh god, no, don't let Louis hear you say that.”

Harry frowns. “Why not?”

“Because it's – Liam and Louis aren't like that, you know what I mean?”

Harry gives him a very serious look. “No.”

“They're just friends,” Niall explains.

Propping one elbow on the bar, Harry appears to mull that over for a moment. “Are you sure?” he finally asks.

Niall laughs, flagging down the bartender. “All right, maybe it's a little complicated, but it's one of those things we don't really talk about. Those conversations never end well.”

“Hmm,” is all Harry says, waiting quietly while Niall orders. He offers to carry the glasses out to the patio while Niall tries not to spill the beer, and Niall is careful to ignore how Harry's hands are big enough to hold all four glasses easily.

The beer lasts until Liam and Louis are mostly dry, their saturated clothes no match for the desert heat, so Niall doesn't have to spend too much time pretending not to notice the way Louis sneaks glances at Liam whenever he thinks no one is looking. Liam, for his part, seems a little distracted by the way Louis' shirt is plastered to his chest, and it's hard to say if the flush in his cheeks is just from the sun.

Harry catches Niall's eye after the third or fourth time Louis gets a little lost staring at Liam's abs, jerking his gaze away violently once he realizes what he's doing, and Niall grins back at him, taking a pull of beer. He'd sort of forgotten what it felt like, not to be a third wheel around his own friends.

It's nice, he decides, having Harry around.

He tries not to let himself hope that Harry plans to stay.

-

Louis is an absolute terror during the show come Sunday, which has the simultaneous effect of bolstering the listener count, and shortening Niall's lifespan.

“Let's take another caller,” Niall suggests when Louis' debate with their current caller has degenerated into insults about each other's mothers.

“Hiii,” Harry says, and beneath the table, Louis kicks his ankle. Hard. Niall glares at him.

“Wasn't sure we'd hear from you again on the show, Har-- H. How're you doing?”

“Yeah, are we sure this isn't a conflict of interest, now?” Louis interrupts before Harry can respond. “This is textbook nepotism.”

Niall scoffs. “First of all, no it isn't. Letting _you_ on air is nepotism.”

“No, letting me on air is just good business. So, H – are we still calling you H on air, by the way? Got a secret identity you're protecting?”

Harry laughs. “No, um, I was just too nervous, the first time I called in, to give my real name. I, uh. You could say I had a bit of a – a thing. About Niall. For Niall. He's, uh. I like him,” he explains haltingly, while Niall tries his best not to blush. It's not quite a success, if the heat in his cheeks is anything to go by. 

“Yeah, asking him out last week made that one pretty obvious.” Louis leans in closer to the mic, making sure it picks up every word. “For those who missed last week's show – and shame on you, if you did – it finally happened. We found out H's real name is Harry, and he actually popped the question.”

“For fu-- for goodness sake, Lou, it wasn't a marriage proposal. It was a _date_.” They only have an hour left before the end of the show, and Niall has no interest in spending it talking about his love life on air. The gleam in Louis' eye says that he doesn't have much of a choice.

“Two dates,” Harry corrects, sounding a little indignant. “Unless the golf doesn't count because it was mini, but I think it does.”

“No, the coffee shop doesn't count because we all thought you were a serial killer.”

“ _Louis_ ,” Niall hisses.

“What? Half our listeners thought he was a serial killer, too. Did you not see the poll I put up on Twitter?” It was a mistake, giving Louis the password for the show's Twitter account, but hindsight is 20/20, and all that. And anyway, the follower count doubled once Louis started tweeting. Niall's a little afraid to check why.

“I'd like to say, for the record, that I am not a serial killer. Or a stalker. I'm a nice – uh. Person.”

Louis doesn't bother to muffle his laugh. “Well, now that that's cleared up, bro, anything else you'd like to add? I'm assuming you called in to flirt with Niall, not because you wanted to weigh in on whether or not aliens built the pyramids.”

“Well,” Harry hedges, and Niall shakes his head, covering his smile with his hand.

-

Niall's got an early shift the next morning, but even though he's running on four hours of sleep and too much caffeine, he can't stop smiling.

For the first time in a long time, Niall's got a reason to wake up in the morning, something to look forward to that makes his heart beat a little quicker, his pulse thrum beneath his skin. It's early yet, this thing with Harry, whatever it is, but it feels like it could be something good. Something worthwhile.

His phone buzzes in his pocket with a new text, and Niall slides it out to check the message between customers. It's from Harry, of course – Louis would never be awake this early, and Liam rarely has his phone on him when he's at the garage. Niall thumbs open the message and a helpless smile spreads across his face.

It's an image of some sort of lottery ticket, a big bold four leaf clover with the words _LUCK OF THE IRISH_ emblazoned across the middle, a simple caption attached.

_Reminded me of you. H_

-

It's technically their third date – although Niall is still skeptical that the coffee shop fiasco where he accused Harry of being a stalker counts as their first – and Harry's been insistent all night that he wants to surprise him.

“Okay, but what should I wear? Casual, dressy? Help me out here, Harry.”

“Niall, if I gave you any hints it could ruin the surprise. Just wear whatever you'd usually wear. You always look nice.”

Phone pressed to his ear, Niall pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger with his other hand. “That's sweet of you to say, Harry, but you've only seen me – oh my god. You are a stalker, aren't you? You're watching me through the windows right now, I bet.”

“I'm not, I'm not!” Harry protests, laughing over the line. “I just mean, like, you could probably show up naked and I'd think you look nice.” He pauses. “Um. That came out wrong.”

With a snort, Niall resumes his search through his wardrobe, flicking through his collection of shirts. He's got a horse-patterned one that's a little too bold to wear around Louis, but Harry would probably be into it. It's nice enough if Harry takes him some place fancy, but still casual if he pairs it with some dark jeans. He tosses it onto the bed.

“Sure it did, mate. Is that not your plan? Get me wined and dined and out of these clothes?” He keeps his tone teasing, but his heart rate picks up just a little, his palm going damp where he's clutching his phone.

“Am I that obvious?” Harry says, but he's laughing again. “Okay, okay, I'm hanging up now. I'll be there in half an hour, all right? Be ready.”

“Yeah, yeah, see you soon,” Niall says before disconnecting the call and setting it down on his dresser. It's weird how different it is, flirting with Harry off air. The stakes are so much higher, now that there's a potential payout. Niall takes a deep breath, refocusing. He's only got 29 more minutes to finish getting ready.

-

Harry ends up taking him to a nice steakhouse, then proceeds to order a salad.

“Are you a vegetarian, or something?” Niall asks once the waiter has collected their menus. “I mean, it's fine if you are. But we could have gone somewhere else.”

“I haven't decided,” Harry says. “But red meat is like, really bad for you. Uh. No offense.”

“None taken,” Niall laughs, reaching for a piece of bread from the basket in the middle of the table. “But you really didn't have to take me to a steakhouse, if it's such a health concern.”

Harry shakes his head. “You love steak. You're always talking about grilling on your show.”

Niall wants to object, but Harry's probably right. He is quite proud of his grill, and may have mentioned it a time or ten on the show. “All right, I feel like you know way more about me than I do about you. We need to fix that right now.”

An easy smile spreads across Harry's face, and he clasps his hands in front of himself on the table. “What do you want to know?”

Niall bites his lip. He wants to know everything, but that's probably a little much for a third date. “What do you do for a living?” he finally settles on, spreading butter over his bread.

“Oh, well, nothing, really? I mean, I'm studying right now – botany major, you'd call it – and it's like a, I dunno, field study sort of thing. So.” Harry turns his hands palm up, fingers spread wide. “Probably'll do something with that, eventually.”

Well, that certainly explains the weird love Harry has for plants. “Huh. Interesting. And what exactly do you do, with a botany degree?”

“Oh, lots of things,” he says vaguely. “I'll probably keep studying awhile, anyway. Don't think I'm ready to go home just yet.”

Niall takes a bite of bread, savoring the taste. “And where is home?” he asks once he's swallowed.

Harry's hand darts out, tearing a chunk of bread off Niall's loaf. He just grins when Niall glares at him. “Nowhere special. Anyway, I want to do fieldwork for awhile, travel and stuff. The Earth's a fascinating place, you know? The number of different climates that plant life is able to adapt to is, like, amazing.”

“You're truly one of a kind, Harry. I take it you're not from Nevada, originally?” He might be prying, a bit, but Harry's got a gift for not actually answering the question at hand.

Harry's face scrunches like he has to think about it. “No, I got here… four, maybe five months ago? Time feels so different, here. Uh, in the desert, I mean. I'm not used to such long days.”

Their waiter reappears, then, with a beer for Niall and a bright green cocktail for Harry that has no less than four different types of alcohol in it, according the menu. He takes a sip, lips pursed around his straw, and sighs loudly. “Oh my god, that's so good. That's _so good._ ”

He notices Niall staring, then, and offers him a crooked grin. “You wanna try it?”

“S'all right, mate,” Niall says, knocking back a swallow of beer. “I'm having fun just watching you enjoy it.”

It's easy, being with Harry, listening to his rambling stories that seem to circle around the point without ever really getting there, the way he covers his entire face when he laughs, and constantly plays with his hair. Niall's even charmed by the way Harry sticks his tongue out when he's about to take a bite of salad, like he's really got frog somewhere in his lineage.

At the end of the night, Harry drives Niall home, windows down and wind in their hair. Niall catches himself stealing glances at the play of moonlight across Harry's profile, the way it catches in strands of his dark hair, turning them a shimmering, pearly white.

When he pulls up in front of Niall's, Harry turns the car off, unfolding himself from the driver's seat to walk Niall to the front door. They both pause on the slab of cement that serves as a tiny porch, neither one quite ready to let the night end.

“I had a nice time tonight, Harry,” Niall says, and he doesn't think he's imagining the way Harry's eyes dip down briefly to his mouth.

“Me too,” Harry murmurs, voice soft like it's a secret just for Niall to hear. He steps in close and grabs Niall's hand, squeezing his fingers gently in the oddest handshake Niall's ever experienced.

“We can do this again sometime, yeah?” he asks, and his big eyes look like they're reflecting every damn star in the night sky.

Niall clears his throat. “Course we can,” he manages, and Harry darts in to press a quick, chaste kiss to his cheek.

“Good night, Niall,” he says, loosening his grip until Niall's fingers slip through his. “I'll call you.”

Then he's turning on his heel – back to the glitter boots tonight, dressed to impress – and with one last glance over his shoulder at Niall, folds himself into his car before backing carefully out of the driveway.

Niall sags back against his front door, watching until Harry's taillights disappear around the corner.

-

Harry slots himself into Niall's life with remarkable ease. His field study schedule is nearly as hectic as Niall's two-jobs-and-a-budding-radio-gig schedule, which doesn't make a lot of sense to Niall since it's just plants, but Harry remains charmingly vague about it. He makes sure to text Niall at least once a day, though, sometimes with a terrible pun or a picture of something that reminded him of Niall, sometimes just a simple _Good morning. H_

More than once, Niall falls asleep with his phone pressed to his cheek, Harry's voice rumbling in his ear like he's a teenager again, trying to sneak every conscious second in that he can because the day just isn't long enough.

It doesn't take long for Louis to notice, which Niall knows because Louis offers his unsolicited opinion on the subject almost as soon as he forms it.

“You've been spending a lot of time with Harry lately,” he says, barging through Niall's front door with a six-pack in hand. Niall hadn't even known that Louis was in town, but then Louis had never really been the type to plan things, or tell anyone else what he might be up to next.

Niall rolls his eyes. “Nice to see you too, Louis. Please, make yourself at home.”

“What kind of snacks do you have?” Louis calls over his shoulder, already disappearing through the doorway into Niall's kitchen. “What the fuck, no Cheetos?”

“Might've picked some up, if you would have told me you were gonna be around,” Niall says pointedly, voice raised so Louis can hear him from the kitchen.

Louis pops his head through the doorway, shoving what might be a Dorito in his mouth. Good to see he rallied so quickly. “'M a free bird, Nialler. And this bird you cannot tame.”

Niall could point out that real free bird probably wouldn't have tethered himself so fiercely to another person, but he isn't looking for a fight tonight.

“Noted. You sleeping on my sofa tonight, then?”

If Louis picks up on the subtext, he doesn't acknowledge it, crunching more crisps. “Unless it'll interfere with your Harry time? You two have been attached at the hip lately.”

Which is an unfair statement on multiple accounts, given that Louis isn't even around most of the time, and it was his fault that Niall ended up on that first date with Harry in the first place.

“Do you have a point, or are you just making an unhelpful observation?”

Cracking open a beer, Louis saunters back into the living room, an open bag of Doritos tucked under his arm. He settles onto the sofa like he's nesting, tucked up next to a throw pillow and holding the Doritos close.

“I always have a point,” he lies brazenly. Niall just stares at him.

“I'm just worried, is all,” Louis adds, more quietly, and Niall blinks in surprise.

“About what?”

Louis looks away, digging his bare toes into Niall's rug. “You were pretty – look, it wasn't a fun time for any of us, when Zayn left. This – whatever you have going with Harry, it's still really new, and already you seem so – I just don't want him to break your heart, Niall. You barely know him, you know?”

It's the sincerity in Louis' voice that keeps Niall from snapping back, even if the words put him on the defensive. “I thought I knew Zayn better than anyone, and that didn't really matter in the end, did it? What's wrong with having a good time with a stranger – one that you set me up with, in case you've forgotten.”

“And I take full credit, obviously. I'm a brilliant matchmaker. But--” Louis hesitates, picking his next words with care. “Is that all it is with Harry? Just a good time?”

That's all it was with Zayn at first, but Niall had thought they were on the same page about it turning into something more. At least, until the day that Zayn announced he was leaving, eyes rimmed in red and Niall's heart in his hand.

Niall sighs. “I don't know,” he admits. “Harry's, like… he's incredibly weird and doesn't make sense half the time, but he's so sincere and thoughtful, and, like, genuine, you know? He'll send me a text just to make me smile, or call me to tell me about a cactus he saw that reminded him of me – shut up, don't laugh – and it's. I'm not in love with him, or anything. But it'd be so easy, Lou. So easy.”

Louis takes a long swallow of beer. “Jesus.”

“I know.” Niall laughs a little shakily.

“Is he good in bed?” Louis asks after a moment, one eyebrow twitching up.

“I have no idea,” Niall confesses. “Harry hasn't given me more more than a good night kiss on the cheek. I don't wanna pressure him or anything, so.” He shrugs, running his fingers along a seam in the arm of the sofa.

Louis seems to consider this, shoving another Dorito into his mouth. “Maybe he's insecure about his dick? Wants to make sure you like him for him before the big – or small – reveal.”

“You're the dick,” Niall says, snaking his hand into the bag to grab a handful of crisps. Louis generously lets him, even though they were Niall's in the first place.

-

Their schedules don't line up for almost two weeks, and the first night they both have free, Niall's so tired from too many late shifts at the bar that he can't muster up the energy for a night out.

Harry shows up on his front stoop with a bright smile and a bottle of white wine, and agrees to eat whatever Niall decides to grill them as long as they can pair it with a salad. Niall leaves the wine in the fridge to chill and Harry follows him out to the back patio, which is really just a slab of cracked cement, half-shaded by the overhanging roof.

“No lawn back here,” Harry observes.

“Great collection of rocks, though,” Niall grins. The desert isn't for everyone, but there's something about it's unforgiving fierceness that Niall loves.

They eat outside on Niall's rickety table, the setting sun turning everything a red gold and taking the worst of the heat over the horizon with it. Underneath the table, Harry knocks his boots into Niall's, smiling down at his plate every time their ankles brush.

“Should we open the wine, then?” Niall asks, once they've cleaned their plates and the sky's turned a bruised, mottled purple. The first stars are just starting to wink overhead, far as they are from the bright lights of the strip, and before long the entire black expanse of sky will be glittering with constellations.

“Yeah,” Harry agrees, stretching his arms over his head as he climbs to his feet. It pulls the hem of his shirt up high enough that Niall catches a glimpse of his bare stomach, a hint of ink splashed across the vee of his hips.

Inside, Harry glances around Niall's small kitchen with mild curiosity. The fridge catches his attention almost immediately, and he steps closer, gaze running over the pictures and postcards Niall's pinned in place with colorful magnets. He pauses at one in particular, finger hovering over the glossy surface of the photo, and Niall nearly groans out loud. Of course Harry would pick that one.

“Who's this?” he asks, eyes darting towards Niall.

“Zayn,” Niall says shortly, reaching for the cupboard where he keeps the wine glasses. “Grab the wine, would you? It's on the top shelf.”

For a moment that feels like forever, Harry studies the photo. “You two looked happy,” he says at last, before finally opening the fridge door.

Niall can feel the weight of Harry's gaze on him, but he's too busy setting the glasses down on the counter and rummaging through one of the kitchen drawers where he swore he had a corkscrew to meet Harry's eye.

“Yeah, well,” he finally says, still digging through the odds and ends before he finally unearths the wine opener. “We were happy. For awhile, anyway.”

Letting the fridge door swing shut, Harry hands him the chilled bottle of wine. “This is one of those times I should stop asking questions, isn't it?”

One corner of Niall's mouth pulls up almost involuntarily. “Bit early in our relationship to be talking about exes, yeah?” He plunges the corkscrew into the cork, twisting violently.

“Yeah,” Harry agrees. “Sorry I asked. He just looked familiar, I dunno. Thought maybe I'd seen him before.”

Shaking his head, Niall pulls the cork free with a pop, filling both glasses with a healthy amount of wine. “You wouldn't have met him. He left six, maybe seven months ago.” Six months, three weeks, and two days, not that Niall's kept track, or anything. “Went back home to England. Haven't heard from him since.” That's maybe more than he meant to let slip, so Niall plasters on a smile and presses a glass into Harry's hand.

Harry seems content to let the subject drop, at any rate, accepting the glass from Niall and clinking the rims together.

“Are we toasting to something?” Niall asks with amusement.

“To being happy,” Harry says decisively, and well. That's something Niall can definitely drink to.

-

Half a bottle of wine later, they've made their way to the sofa, Harry slouched down far enough that his cheek is tucked against Niall's neck, his arms wrapped around Niall's waist. It should be uncomfortable, but Niall mostly feels warm and content, trailing his fingers up and down the soft silky material of Harry's shirt.

The volume on the TV is turned down low and the game's on, but Niall's not paying much attention to the score. He's more focused on the feeling of Harry's warm breath on the bare skin of his neck, the faint coconut scent of his shampoo.

He could fall asleep like this, unless the hand Harry has resting on his waistband slips any lower, and his hips twitch minutely at the thought. Harry doesn't show any signs of movement, though, and the steady rise and fall of his chest gradually slows until there's no way he's still awake.

Niall's eyes start to drift shut, and that's when the front door flies open, banging loudly against the wall. Harry startles badly, sitting up with a lurch at the noise, but Niall can only think of one person who'd barge into his house this late at night without so much as a knock.

“Niall, I need you to– oh,” Louis says, standing awkwardly in the doorway. “Harry. Hi.”

“Hii,” Harry says, voice rougher than normal since three seconds ago he was passed out on Niall's chest. His lips are chapped, his tongue darting out to wet them, and there's a pink mark on his cheek the shape of the wrinkle on Niall's shirt.

For a second, Louis just blinks at them, like he can't quite process what he's seeing. “Right,” he says after a long moment. “Your couch is clearly taken. I should just, uh...”

“Stay,” Harry says, scrambling off the sofa. He glances anxiously at Niall. “He should stay, right?”

“Ah, well. Liam's got an even better sofa than mine, Louis can crash there,” Niall suggests. “Right, Louis?” he adds pointedly.

“Liam's got a new girlfriend,” Louis says, and it sounds like the words cost him something to push past his teeth. “Or maybe it's a one night stand, I don't know. Didn't really stick around to find out. Anyway, I've interrupted enough dates for the night, I think. I'm just gonna fuck off.”

“No, wait, Louis--” Pushing himself off the cushion, Niall rounds the end of the sofa, grabbing for Louis' wrist before he can retreat out the door. Up close, Niall can see that his eyes are rimmed in red, even though there was no sign of tears in his voice. “Shit, Lou, I didn't even know he was interested in anyone.”

“Yeah, well.” Louis scrubs a hand over his face, a few days' worth of stubble covering his jaw. “Fun surprise for both of us, then.”

“C'mon,” Niall says, tugging on his wrist to lead him over to the sofa. He barely has to push at Louis' shoulder before he collapses back, flopping onto the cushion.

Watching the exchange with worried eyes, Harry wrings his hands. “I could get some ice cream, if you have it here?”

Louis wrinkles his nose. “What am I, a thirteen-year-old with a broken heart? I want whiskey.”

“Cupboard above the fridge,” Niall says, and Harry disappears into the kitchen to fetch it. “Christ, Lou, I'm so sorry,” he adds once Harry's trotted off.

“Not your fault, bro. Liam's never single for long. Should have seen it coming, honestly.”

“But he--”

“I thought he liked _you_ ,” Harry says, standing in the kitchen doorway with a bottle of whiskey in one hand and a tub of ice cream in the other. “Is this what complicated means?”

Niall hides his face in his palm. “Harry...”

Laughing without any trace of humor, Louis makes grabby hands for the whiskey, snatching it from Harry's grip and unscrewing the cap to knock back a healthy swallow. With a wince, he rubs the back of his wrist over his mouth. “Nothing complicated about it. He's not into me, and I need to stop forgetting that and get over it. End of story.”

Harry doesn't look convinced, but he perches on the edge of the sofa on Louis' other side, handing out spoons with determination.

“Thanks, bro, but I really don't want any,” Louis says.

“It's cookies 'n cream,” Harry insists. “And this is what you do when you have a broken heart. I saw it on TV.”

“You didn't get out much as a child, did you?” Louis asks, but takes the spoon from Harry without further protest. He ends up doing a lot more damage to the bottle of whiskey than the ice cream, and it's the former that loosens his tongue, until he's explaining his entire life story to Harry between hiccups, with details even Niall's never heard before.

“We grew up together, y'know? Best friends since we were five. He's the best person, Harry,” Louis babbles. “Always stuck up for me, even when I deserved to have my ass kicked. I don't think I would have made it through high school without him.”

“He sounds like a good friend,” Harry says, encouraging, and Louis nods enthusiastically, grabbing his temple a moment later.

“He is, he is, he's the best!” Louis' face suddenly crumples. “I just wish that could be enough, y'know? Like, why can't I just be happy being his friend?”

Burrowing an arm between Louis and the back of the sofa, Niall rests his chin on Louis' shoulder. He's only slightly dislodged when Louis brings the bottle of whiskey to his lips again, the amber liquid sloshing noisily against the inside of the glass.

“There's only one thing Liam and I ever really fought over,” he says, the words slurring a bit. “I always wanted to get out, like, see the world, all that. But Liam, he--”

Louis hiccups again, blinking a few times as his train of thought is derailed. “I wanted him to come with me, when I left. Tried to tell him there was a whole world out there, so much more than this stupid dusty town in the middle of nowhere. I didn't care where I went, so long as it wasn't here. But Liam always wanted to stay. Said the desert was home, that he couldn't imagine being happy anywhere else.”

Licking his lips, Louis rubs his thumb over the rim of the bottle, but he doesn't take another drink. “I thought all I wanted was to see the world, but – and this is fucking rich, isn't it? - it turns out my whole world is just Liam.”

“Oh, Lou,” Harry says, but Louis doesn't seem to hear him.

“I like Vegas, though,” he mumbles, eyes barely open a slit. “'S like the world's come to see you. And it's close to Liam. 'S nice.” His even breathing turns into a snore a moment later, and Niall carefully pulls the bottle of whiskey from his slack grip. Extracting his arm out from behind Louis' back, he climbs to his feet, padding quietly to the kitchen.

He doesn't hear Harry follow, but it's like he can feel his presence, the weight of his gaze on Niall's back as he braces himself over the kitchen sink.

“Probably best if we pretend we never heard him say any of that,” Niall says evenly. “Hopefully he'll be too drunk to remember in the morning. God, I didn't even know he was in town, let alone at Liam's.”

“Are you going to leave him on your sofa?” Harry asks.

Turning around, Niall leans back until the edge of the counter is digging into his lower back, his arms crossed over his chest. “You got any better ideas?”

“I thought of the ice cream,” he points out, and Niall's lips twitch against a smile.

“Great effort, babe. Not sure it counts, if you stole the idea from TV, but great effort.”

“I'm trying my best,” Harry protests. “This is all really… complicated.”

Niall raises a brow. “Not quite what you signed up for?” he asks, but Harry's already shaking his head.

“Not like that. I just… your friend is sad, and I don't know how to make it better.” He looks ridiculous, his brightly patterned floral shirt unbuttoned nearly to his navel, a gleaming silver cross dangling from the chain around his neck like he just stepped off a runway, too high fashion for Niall to understand – but his eyebrows are furrowed in concern and his pigeon-toed feet are just slightly turned in, knees almost knocking together. He's ridiculous, and wonderful, and he's already making it better, just by being here.

“You could stay the night,” Niall says, then quickly adds, “that wasn't, like – I mean, only what you're comfortable with, no pressure or anything, I mean – um...”

A slow smile spreads across Harry's face, until both his cheeks are carved with deep dimples. “I just wanna be clear, here. I really like you, Niall. In a romantic way, specifically. But it's important to me that we take it slow, okay?”

“Yeah, no, I totally get it. I'm right there with you, uh, I mean, with the – the liking you. Romantically.” Niall laughs, hiding his face with his hand for a moment. He can feel how red his cheeks are. “Sorry, I'm just – I really, really like you. We can take it slow as you like, all right? Whatever pace you want.”

Harry grins at him. “Then I think we should tuck Louis in and go to bed.”

In the end, Niall throws an old quilt over Louis' shoulders because he keeps the A/C turned up high, and sets a bottle of water on the coffee table for him while Harry changes into a t-shirt and a pair of old joggers pilfered from Niall's closet. Niall keeps his promise, swallowing a smile when Harry insists on being the little spoon and they curl up in bed together, Niall's chest pressed to Harry's broad back.

He falls asleep with Harry's soft hair tickling his nose, his palm pressed to Harry's heartbeat, their fingers intertwined.

-

The sheets are still warm next to him when Niall wakes up the next morning, but the bed is empty. He stretches his arms over his head, jaw cracking with a yawn, and seriously considers rolling over and going back to sleep.

There's a loud clang from the kitchen followed by a yelp, which changes that plan pretty quickly. Climbing out of bed, Niall shuffles down the hall to the kitchen, where a wide-eyed Harry is standing next to the counter, looking incredibly guilty.

“I just wanted to make you coffee,” he says. “But your machine thing, it's – it's evil, Niall.”

Niall's laugh is still rusty from sleep, catching in his dry throat. “It's not evil, you twat. It's just a bit… finicky.”

“It _burned_ me,” Harry says darkly, holding out his finger so Niall can see the evidence. Sure enough, the skin is a little red, though it doesn't appear to be blistered.

“'S'it hurt?” he asks, holding Harry's finger with a gentle grip, turning it towards the light streaming in through the kitchen window to get a better view.

“Yes. You should throw your stupid coffee machine away, Niall. It hurts innocent people.”

Shaking his head, Niall tugs Harry towards the sink, turning on the tap and testing out the water temperature with the back of his hand before guiding Harry's pink finger under the stream. Harry is an adult who knows how to treat minor burns – hopefully – but he doesn't put up any protest. When Niall sneaks a glance at him, he actually looks quite pleased with the attention.

“If I throw it out, I'll have to buy a new one,” Niall says eventually. “And that one works just fine for me.”

“Oh. Well. About that,” Harry says, gaze fixed doggedly on the water pouring over his finger. “I may have, uh. It wasn't on purpose, you know, but it _burned_ me, and – I'm sorry, Niall, but I broke your coffee machine.” After blurting out the confession, he hangs his head, looking like a dog that got caught eating out of the bin, and he sneaks a look out the corner of his eye to check if he's landed the apology.

Niall tries very hard not to laugh. “It's going to be okay, Harry. Don't beat yourself up over it.” He reaches out to turn off the tap. “Does your finger feel better?”

“Like new,” Harry says with a beaming smile. He rotates his hand until his palm is pressed to Niall's, then threads their fingers together. It's a little wet and clammy, water still dripping off their skin, but Niall doesn't pull away.

“Is Louis still here?” he asks. He hasn't heard a single snore from the living room, which is a pretty big indicator on it's own.

Harry shakes his head. “No, he left a note on the table in the other room.” He pauses, swinging their joined hands between them. “It's just us.”

Niall grins at him. “I don't have to work until four. You wanna stick around?”

The coffee maker is well and truly fucked and Niall's out of tea, but Harry cooks some kind of egg and hot sauce dish that makes him completely forget about the lack of caffeine in his system at this hour. He inhales the food, his tongue on fire, and a piece of paper crinkles when he sets his plate down on the coffee table.

When he tugs it free from under the plate, he has to squint to read Louis' chicken scratch.

_**Thanks for the water. Sorry about last night. - L** _

Harry nudges his shoulder into Niall's, setting his own plate down. “Do you think he remembers any of it?”

Niall shrugs, leaning into Harry's side. “No idea. He'll probably pretend not to, even if he does. He's not big on heartfelt confessions, especially once he's sober.”

“Hmm,” is all Harry says, shifting so he can drape one arm over the back of the sofa. Niall takes it as an opportunity to fully sink into Harry's side, absently flicking through channels with the remote he rescued from between the sofa cushions. It's starting to become a habit, invading Harry's space like this, but Niall can't says he minds. There are worse ways to spend a lazy morning, especially when Harry drops his arm down to rest across Niall's shoulders, his fingers finding the bare skin of Niall's arm just below the hem of his sleeve.

Harry's quiet, and Niall doesn't know what he's thinking, if the absent patterns his fingertips are tracing over his skin is an intentional effort to drive him mad, or if Harry's just a natural at it. When Harry finally opens his mouth to say something, he catches Niall off guard.

“I think we should fix them up,” Harry announces.

“Who, the Kardashians? Mate, Kim and Kanye are already a thing.”

“No, no, I don't mean – Niall, pay attention.” Stealing the remote from Niall's slack grip, Harry mutes the TV. “Liam and Louis. I think we should fix them up.”

“That sounds like a terrible idea,” Niall says, making a lunge for the remote. Harry holds it above his head and Niall ends up landing on his chest, which isn't a bad consolation prize. He ducks his head under Harry's chin as Harry collapses onto his back, snuggling in. “Like, really incredibly awful,” he half mumbles into Harry's chest.

“Why?” Harry questions. “They obviously like each other, and they're both miserable.”

“No, _Louis_ is miserable,” Niall corrects. He tips his face up, chin digging into Harry's sternum. Harry looks down at him, slightly cross-eyed, as Niall adds, “Liam has a girlfriend. Or did you miss that part? Louis only mentioned it seven thousand times last night, so you might not have picked up on it. Master of subtlety, that one.”

“You're being sarcastic. I don't appreciate it, Niall.” His chest rumbles underneath Niall with each word, the vibrations like a defibrillator to Niall's heart. Carefully, Niall adjusts the angle of his hips so he's not pressed against Harry.

“Well, you can't go around fixing people up when one of 'ems already taken,” he points out.

Harry sticks his tongue out at him, still a bit cross-eyed, and Niall laughs. “You've got the mentality of a five-year-old.”

“Heyyy,” Harry says. “I'm very mature, and I'm full of great ideas. Remember the ice cream? That was all me.”

Niall can't keep a straight face, but to be fair, he doesn't try very hard. “You said yourself you stole that idea from a TV show.”

Very seriously, Harry tells him, “Even the best of us have to draw inspiration from somewhere, Niall. I'm a man who's not afraid to admit my weaknesses.”

Niall snorts. “Sometimes I don't believe you're even human.”

Underneath him, Harry freezes, his muscles suddenly locking with tension, and his eyes widen with alarm. “How could you tell?” he whispers.

“The fuck?” Niall pushes up onto his elbow. “I was kidding, Harry.”

“Oh,” Harry says, blinking up at him rapidly. He tries out a smile, but it fits his face all wrong. “I mean, right, ha ha, me too. Totally joking! Man, the laughs we have.”

He's still weirdly tense, and when Niall lays his palm on Harry's chest, he can feel the way Harry's heart is jackrabbiting against his ribcage.

“I don't think you are joking,” Niall says slowly. “And you're kind of freaking me out right now.”

“Niall. I'm not – don't be – of course I'm human. What else would I be?” Which, yeah, that's the question, isn't it? Harry's words should be reassuring, but Niall can hear the thread of panic beneath the forced calmness in his tone.

Slowly, Niall sits up, sliding off Harry's thighs where he's inadvertently sat in his lap. Harry eases himself off his back until he's sitting up too, his hair a messy halo of golden brown and the skin around his eyes creased with worry.

“Harry, I want you to be completely honest with me,” Niall says, and Harry closes his eyes. Something lurches painfully in Niall's chest. “Are you human? And if the answer is yes - which it better be - then you owe me a fucking explanation for why you're acting like this, because it's not funny.”

Scrunching his eyes shut tighter, Harry says, barely loud enough for Niall to hear, “And what if the answer is no?”

“Don't fuck with me, Harry.”

He finally opens his eyes, but can't seem to hold Niall's gaze, focusing instead on the silver rings on his fingers, tugging at them nervously. “Do you want me to say yes, or do you want me to tell the truth? You're giving me mixed signals, here.”

“I want to know why _being human_ is something you'd have to lie about!” Niall yelps, and Harry flinches.

“Well I can't exactly go around broadcasting that I'm--” Harry cuts his outburst short, running an agitated hand through his hair. It's a mess from being slept on, the curls tangled, and his fingers get caught partway through.

“That you're _what_?” Niall asks, and there's this pressure in his chest, like a hand squeezing his lungs until he can't get enough air. This feels like an awful prank, except that Harry looks just as upset as Niall feels, his mouth pinched with worry and his shoulders hunched in, like he's trying to make himself as small as possible.

“I'm not supposed to say. You have to understand, Niall. I wasn't supposed to do any of this.”

Oh, god. He really is a serial killer. One of those sociopaths that makes lamps out of people's skin. Niall feels lightheaded.

“But… I really like you. And I trust you. If I get in trouble for this, then it's worth it.” Harry takes a deep breath. “I'm sorry I lied to you. I just wanted to get to know you better, because I thought you were so funny, on your show. It was one of the first things I listened to, when I got here. I think they call that serendipity.”

“Harry, what are you _talking_ about?”

Squaring his shoulders and tipping up his chin to look Niall dead in the eye, Harry says, “I'm not human, Niall. I'm what your scientists might call humanoid, if they knew about us, but as far as I know it's just, like, military types that do. Unless there are scientists in the military? I don't actually know, to be honest, it's all a bunch of boring bureaucracy, and-- right.” He takes in Niall's blank expression and refocuses. “I'm a – the word you're most familiar with is alien, probably, but I think that one's a little problematic. I like extra-terrestrial better.”

It takes a moment for the words to register, and once they do, it still makes no fucking sense. “You. What?”

“Extra-terrestrial,” Harry repeats. “Like, not from Earth?”

“No, no, I heard you. I'm just…” Niall trails off, a new thought slowly occurring to him. “You honestly believe you're an alien.”

“I just said that word is offensive,” Harry points out. “And I'm not, like, delusional, or whatever you're thinking.”

“What, can you read minds, or something?” he says with more bite than he means to, the words snapping past his teeth. He doesn't know how to feel, emotions tripping dizzily in circles around his head, shock dulling them all into fuzzy background noise.

Harry crosses his arms over his chest. “You had a _tone_ , Niall.”

“Because you're claiming to be an alien! Fine, extra-terrestrial, whatever,” he amends at Harry's sharp look. “I'm just having trouble, like, fully believing this.”

“You've said it on your show countless times. The universe is too big for Earth to be the only life-sustaining planet, right?” It's the same calm tone he used to adopt when he would call in, patiently explaining his point of view so pragmatically that any other viewpoint suddenly seemed unreasonable.

Niall shakes his head. “Yeah, but I was thinking more along the lines of, like, microorganisms. Bacteria. Maybe some moss. Not...”

“Humanoid extra-terrestrials?” Harry supplies in a quiet voice, when Niall fails to finish his thought.

“You look completely human to me,” Niall says, tingeing on desperate. “I mean, your eyes are kinda big and buggy, but, uh – sorry, that wasn't meant to sound like an insult.”

Harry just nods thoughtfully. “My eyes are pretty small, actually. Back home, I mean. It's part of why I got into the field study program.”

It takes Niall a moment to remember to pick his jaw up, his mouth slack with disbelief. “Are you telling me you're _actually_ a botany major from another planet?”

“I never lied to you, Niall. I mean,” he shifts, looking a little uncomfortable. “Other than the extra-terrestrial thing, obviously.”

Obviously. Niall's not sure if he wants to laugh or cry. Maybe a fun combination of both will win out. “Pretty big lie, though.”

Harry's face caves in defeat. “What would you have done, if you were in my place?”

Niall doesn't answer, fingers tugging anxiously at his bottom lip. “I don't know,” he says at last. His brain finally settles on an emotion, betrayal sitting heavily in his gut, on the back of his tongue. He doesn't know if that's fair, just that he's choking on it. Swallowing thickly, he manages to get out, “Can I – I need to take some time to process this. Without you, to decide if I believe you or not. Figure some stuff out.” Like if he can forgive Harry, for lying to him, or fucking with him, or whatever this is. For taking a good thing, and turning it sour. 

“I understand,” Harry says, and he's being so careful not to touch Niall, to give him space. He stands up slowly, edging towards the door with dragging feet, a pained expression on his face. “You'll call me, when you're ready?”

“Sure,” Niall promises. He's just not sure he'll ever be ready.

-

After Harry leaves, the door clicking shut with finality behind him, Niall gathers up all the dirty dishes from last night and this morning, piling them into the sink and turning on the water hot enough to steam. Soaping up a sponge, he scrubs at hot sauce stains until his fingers are red, until the surface of every dish is gleaming, until his hands stop shaking. Once he's hand dried every plate and utensil, returning each to its respective home, he dries his abused hands on a dishtowel.

There's not much left to clean, since Niall is a neat person by nature, so instead he digs his phone out of his pocket. Louis hasn't replied to the text he sent this morning while Harry was still cooking, a simple _you ok?_

Niall stares at the screen a moment, tapping it a few times when it tries to go dark, before he types out a new message.

_Please call me lou. Its important._

He's not sure if Louis will call him or not, or what he'll say if he does. At least the message is vague enough that he can assess how Louis' coping with the whole Liam situation, and leave the conversation at that if it's all Louis can handle.

Niall takes a few deep breaths, then calls Liam.

He needs a fucking friend right now.

-

“Hey, Nialler. Hope it's okay that we're eating on the patio, I'm kind of gross right now.” Liam smiles at him as he settles into the chair across from Niall. It's about fifteen degrees cooler under the shade of the awning overhead, which is still unbearably hot. There's oil staining Liam's nailbeds as he grabs for a menu, and the clock is already ticking towards the end of his lunch break.

“Not a problem,” Niall says, gulping down half of his ice water. The ice cubes knock against his teeth, and sweat pricks at his temple and beneath his arms. “Thanks for meeting me for lunch.”

The waitress comes then to refill their glasses with a sweating metal pitcher, and they both order. Liam doesn't seem to notice the waitress's interested glances, or the way she ducks her head and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear when he bites his lip, trying to decide between a side of rice or a side of beans.

“You could get both,” she offers. “It's on the house.”

“Is that the Tuesday special?” he asks with a crinkly-eyed smile, and the waitress giggles.

“Today's Wednesday, sweetheart, but just for you, I'll make the exception,” she says, actually winking at him.

“Liam,” Niall says once she's disappeared back inside the air-conditioned restaurant with their orders. “Should you really be flirting like that when you have a girlfriend?”

Liam frowns, eyebrows drawing together in confusion. “I wasn't flirting. And I don't have a girlfriend.” Suddenly, he blushes, cheeks stained a brilliant red. “Wait. Did Louis tell you I had a girlfriend?”

There's a spot of rust on the table that suddenly requires all of Niall's attention to pick at. “He, ah. May have implied that, yes.”

Liam winces. “He sort of, um. Well, he walked in on something last night, and he hasn't been returning my calls or texts since.”

Glancing up, Niall whistles. “Shit.”

“Yeah.” Liam runs his hand through his hair, grimacing a second later and pulling back to examine his fingers for oil stains. “Is he okay? I get so worried when he just drops off the face of the Earth like this.”

They probably have twenty, twenty-five minutes tops before Liam has to get back to the garage, which is not nearly enough time for Niall to have both conversations he needs to have with Liam. It's probably not long enough to have even one of them, but Niall needs to try.

“I think he's just taking some time to himself right now. You know how he gets sometimes.”

Liam worries his bottom lip between his teeth. “He usually texts me, though, just to let me know he's okay. He _knows_ I worry.”

“He hasn't been texting me back either,” Niall admits, and Liam's eyebrows climb halfway up his forehead.

“But he always texts you, even when he's mad at me.”

“Liam.” Niall sits up straighter in his seat, ignoring the way his sweaty t-shirt sticks to his skin. “You can't honestly think that he's _mad_ at you.”

Stubbornly, Liam shakes his head. “You didn't see his face when he saw-- look, it wasn't pretty, all right? I don't blame him for not wanting to talk to me.”

Niall presses his hands together and rests them against his mouth. “Can we review some facts here, just for clarity's sake?” He doesn't wait for Liam to respond before continuing. “So you were hooking up with a girl, in the privacy of your own home – which is honestly a mystery to me, how that happened, given that you wouldn't notice if someone was flirting with you even if they hit you with a two-by-four--”

“I would notice that!” Liam objects. “And anyway, who flirts like that?”

Niall rolls his eyes. “Louis, probably, and anyway, it's a metaphor.”

“Yeah, yeah, got it. Look, I just – if I see a nice girl that I'm interested in, I just, like. Ask her out.” He shrugs. “It's not that complicated.”

“Whatever you say, Payno,” Niall replies, impatient. “But listen, okay, that's not even the point. You were in the privacy of your own home, right, when Louis walked in on – whatever he walked in on?”

Liam's cheeks don't turn quite as red this time, but they are distinctly pink. “Yes.”

“Right, so – why would Louis be mad about that?” Niall asks leadingly. “It's your house, isn't it?”

“Because he was crashing on my couch, and I shouldn't have had other company over?” Liam tries, but it comes out questioning and unsure.

“He was actually staying at yours?” Niall asks, surprised. Before Liam can respond, the waitress comes back with their lunch, two plates piled high with steaming Mexican food. Liam immediately tucks into his tacos while Niall nibbles at his side of rice, trying to find his appetite.

“Yeah, um. Louis' never stayed at my place before when I've been between relationships,” Liam volunteers unexpectedly, after he's eaten an entire taco in under thirty seconds. It's a surprisingly astute observation from him. “I guess I don't know the rules about bringing new people home when he's there.”

“Maybe he wanted you all to himself for once,” Niall suggests, poking his fork into his burrito without much enthusiasm. It looks delicious, but Niall's stomach has been in knots since Harry's eyes went wide with panic.

“He can have me whenever he wants. All he has to do is ask.” Liam's looking at his second taco when he says it, maybe appraising the best angle to shove it into his mouth, and the words are said so matter-of-factly that Niall doesn't think he means them the way they sounded.

“Maybe you need to be the one who does the asking,” Niall says, and takes a cautious bite of burrito so that he has excuse to ignore the question in Liam's eyes.

By the time they finish eating, Liam's got barely enough time to pay his bill before he has to get back to the garage for the rest of his shift. Niall asks for a box for the remainder of his food without much hope he'll be able to eat it before it goes bad, and worries his thumbnail between his teeth.

“All right, Nialler?” Liam asks as he pulls a few bills out of his wallet, pinning them in place with his empty water glass. “I'm sure you're right, and Louis will text one of us soon. He's probably still asleep.”

“It's not that,” Niall says, even though Louis' radio silence is definitely not helping.

Liam sits back in his seat, as if whatever Niall might be worried about is more important than his job that he's definitely going to be late getting back to, if he doesn't leave soon. Niall's so grateful he could cry.

“Do you ever, just...” Niall sighs. “Have you ever felt like you knew someone, only to find out that you didn't really know the real them at all? Like, they were keeping something hidden from you, something major, that just – changed the whole foundation of your relationship, once you found out. Would you be able to forgive them, do you think? Find a way to get over it?”

Liam purses his lips in thought, mulling it over. “I dunno, I guess it depends. Had you known whatever it was from the beginning, would you still have wanted to be in a relationship with them? Did they keep it from you to protect you, or themselves? I think the why is important. That's how I'd decide, anyway, if I wanted to forgive them or not.”

“You're a good egg, Liam,” Niall tells him, and Liam laughs.

“Let me know if you hear from Louis, okay? I gotta get back to work.”

Niall waves him off, draining the last of his ice water.

-

A few minutes before midnight, when Niall's just walking in the door after his late shift at the bar, his phone buzzes in his pocket. Throwing his keys on the table beside the door, Niall digs his phone out, thumbing open the lockscreen to read the message.

_I'm fine, dont worry. Picked up some shifts here. Won't be back for awhile._

He takes a deep breath, digesting Louis' text. There are so many things he wants to text back, but all of them will probably just make Louis shut him out more. Finally, he settles on something short and simple before passing out face down in bed, his jeans still on.

_Be safe louis. I'm here whenever youre ready to talk_

-

Harry gives him space, as promised, and the show Sunday night without Louis' chaotic presence or Harry's usual call is lackluster at best. Niall stays far away from any alien-related topics, finds himself playing back everything Harry's ever said on the subject, looking for hidden clues.

It's ridiculous, honestly, that Niall's even entertaining this notion. Of course Harry isn't a fucking alien, even if he seems convinced of it himself. It's just not _possible_.

Still, now that the seed of doubt has been planted, it's starting to take root. It's gone three by the time Niall gets home from the show, but he grabs a beer from the fridge, settling at the rickety table on his patio. He tips his head back, watching the stars glittering overhead, and for a moment lets himself believe.

If Harry's telling the truth, then everything Niall knows about the world has just changed drastically. The vastness of space has been out of his reach for so long, but this – this could bring it back within his grasp. It sends a thrill through his veins for the first time since he turned in his dropout paperwork and folded up his dreams, tucking them away to gather dust in the recesses of his mind.

Niall sips at his beer and watches a comet shoot across the sky, glowing brilliantly before fading to nothing.

If Harry's lying, even to himself, then what changes, really? Niall likes his terrible jokes and his rambling stories, how soft his hair feels when Niall runs his fingers through it, the smile that lights up his face when he's done something good.

All Niall has to lose, really, is Harry himself, and it's a sobering thought. He picks up his phone to send a text before he can talk himself out of it.

_Call me when you get this. I'm ready to talk._

-

They agree to get dinner at a restaurant, a neutral ground while they sort things out. Harry hasn't learned how to do up his buttons properly in the week they weren't talking, and his shirt tonight features what looks to be little purple flowers woven in a pattern against a black backdrop.

He shakes Niall's hand formally when they meet outside the restaurant, his big hand enveloping Niall's, and only lingers a beat too long before dropping it. The hostess seats them at a table outside, far enough away from everyone else that their conversation won't be overheard, as long as they don't get too loud.

Niall gets a beer while Harry orders “just water, please” and then they're alone together for the first time since Harry's confession.

“Hi,” Niall says, to break the sudden tension, and Harry smiles at him.

“Hi,” he says back. Ducking his head, he shakes his hair out before pushing it back off his forehead with one hand. “Are we, um. Small talk first, or do we just jump right in?”

“Right,” Niall says. “The whole--” he waves a hand around vaguely. “Alien thing.”

“Extra-terrestrial,” Harry corrects calmly.

Niall fiddles with the edge of his napkin, forcing an exhale out through his nose. “Is that what you call yourself on your… home planet?”

“Well, no, but – it's hard to pronounce, if it's not your native language,” Harry explains, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. “There actually isn't, like, an agreed upon term for, uh, humans to call us. Alien, though, s'like,” he wrinkles his nose. “Your movies portray aliens as horrible monsters that have come to take over Earth, or whatever. I don't like that.”

“Ahh. So _you're_ the one who's offended by it, not al-- extra-terrestrials in general.”

Harry just looks amused. “Did you invite me out to dinner just to discuss semantics, then?”

“No, I – oh, thank you,” he says as their waiter brings out their drinks. He hasn't even opened the menu yet, but this conversation is going to get frustrating if they keep getting interrupted. Pointing to the first thing that catches his eye, he has to wait another few minutes while Harry decides between a sesame watercress salad or the eggplant lasagna.

When the waiter disappears back inside the restaurant, Niall clutches at his beer, taking a fortifying sip. “I'm still trying to wrap my head around all this,” he confesses. “It's just – it's crazy, right? Humans have only ever made it to the moon, haven't found any definitive sign of life on other planets, don't even have the technology to explore outside our solar system, and you're – you're telling me that not only aliens – extra-terrestrials, sorry – _exist_ , but that they've mastered space travel to the point where they've set up a _student-exchange program_ to study Earth.”

Harry shrugs. “I mean, it's been a while since I've taken a history class, but I think we mastered space travel _ages_ ago. You know how technology advances once something's been invented.” He takes a drink of his water. “Oh, actually, it's kind of a funny story, the very first mission to Earth. This was thousands of years ago, mind, and back then the technology was just _terrible_ , like, hyperspace jumps only worked half the time because they hadn't figured out the algorithm all the way yet – can you even _imagine_ , just winging a hyperspace jump, and sometimes they'd come out the other end in the wrong place, completely fucked, and – oh, I'm going on a tangent, aren't I?”

Niall blinks at him. “I honestly have no idea what you're talking about at all, mate.”

“Sorry, I got sidetracked. So, like, this original mission to Earth – I can't remember why, trying to make contact, maybe? There are other planets with humanoid species, obviously, and humanoid is a very Earth-centric word, by the way, some of us actually find it a little offensive, but in this context I think it's best – anyway,” he says hastily at Niall's blank look. “Earth is one of the most interesting planets because you're so isolated, so there was this mission, right, to make contact, and god, Niall, they _crash landed_ , like, if that happened today, it'd be an intergalactic headline, and--” Harry's laughing a little, shaking his head, “so they're fucked, right, because Earth technology now is absolute shit, back then I don't even know if humans had mastered _fire_ , or wait, maybe they had?" He pauses, head cocked in thought. "I can't remember, it's not important.”

“Does this story have a point?” Niall interrupts. “Because I have about a thousand follow up questions, if you've finished.”

“It does, I promise! Sorry, this is just my favorite story from history class, it's like the only one I remember and the reason I wanted to come to Earth for my field study.” He's giddy, almost bouncing in his seat, and Niall's never seen this side of Harry, so excited to share something personal. “So, okay, like, they've crashed their interplanetary vessel on Earth, communication system shot, no hope of reaching home. They're, like, weeks from running out of regulated air at this point, and back then they traveled without atmosphere optimization, if you can even believe.”

“I can't,” Niall says dryly, because he doesn't know what the fuck that is.

Harry must realize, because he explains, “It's like when you climb Mount Everest.”

That one throws Niall. “Come again?”

“The oxygen is thinner the higher above sea level you go, so you have to let your body adjust gradually or you'll like, explode or something.”

“People don't _explode_ climbing Mount Everest, Harry, fuck.”

He waves a hand. “Well, whatever, they die somehow, I dunno. It's the same principle, though. Atmosphere optimization is like, how you prepare for the oxygen level and air composition on whatever planet you're going to. I don't really know the science behind it, but it's mandated as a part of your training before you're cleared to travel. Makes it so you can breathe when you land.”

“Of course,” Niall says faintly.

“Right, well, anyway, Earth's atmosphere isn't all that different from ours back home, so once their regulated supply ran out they were able to adjust, but they were pretty sick for awhile. That's when they made the first contact – and all this is from damaged com logs we discovered, like, hundreds of years later on another Earth mission, so some of the details are little cloudy – but apparently the early humans were good hosts, 'cause they took care of everyone who survived the crash landing. Thought they were just another tribe of humans, or something.”

There's a dizzying amount of information to dissect from Harry's rambling, and Niall's head is spinning a little. “That's a great story,” he says, no idea where to even start.

“No, but I haven't even told you the best part yet!” Harry says excitedly. “So we thought that the mission had been a failure, right, because the communication system went down during the crash, and no one ever returned. But when the next mission discovered the com logs, they found out about the first contact, and the details before they stopped keeping records, well…” Harry trails off, waggling his eyebrows.

Pausing before he takes another swallow of beer, Niall asks carefully, “What exactly are you trying to imply?”

Harry grins, his mouth stretching wide. “I think you call it the missing link in your evolutionary chain, but let's just say that your ancestors and my ancestors were surprisingly compatible. We're like first cousins, a thousand times removed.”

“Okay, this has been a fun prank, Harry, but--”

Harry grabs his hand from across the table, his expression suddenly serious and his gaze intense. “No, Niall, I swear, it's not a prank. There's, like, actual records that the first crew who crash landed here ended up interbreeding with humans, but I don't know how, um, widespread that DNA, or whatever, became. It just always stuck with me from school, y'know, that there was a chance that we were genetically linked to humans. It'd explain why we're such similar species, at any rate.”

Niall focuses his gaze on their joined hands laying on the table, the way that Harry is rubbing soothing circles across Niall's skin with his thumb. He can't meet Harry's gaze and see the absolute sincerity in his eyes.

“You know how crazy this sounds, don't you?” Niall asks, and his voice comes out all wrong, thin and reedy.

“That's ableist, Niall,” Harry admonishes, but his words are as gentle as the slow sweeps of his thumb. After a minute he sighs, and adds, “You aren't going to be satisfied until I prove it somehow, are you?”

“I… I want to believe you,” Niall says, and as soon as the words are out of his mouth, he realizes that it's true. He wants to believe Harry, to trust him on faith. But – “it's just, it's a lot you're asking me to accept, on your word alone, you know? This changes everything, Harry. Everything I thought I knew about the world.”

Harry grins then, teeth flashing in the late evening light, and Niall wonders wildly that if Harry's theory is true, if humans inherited dimples from his alien ancestors. “But it doesn't change us, right? Whether or not you believe that I'm – what I am. I _like_ you, Niall. That hasn't changed.”

Gesturing to his shirt, he adds, almost shyly, “I even dressed up especially for you.”

Niall can't help grinning back. “You look stunning, babe.” He looks ridiculous, in all honesty, but his whole aesthetic has kind of grown on Niall.

A pleased smile on his face, Harry takes another sip of his water, setting it down carefully on the table. He's still holding Niall's hand, their fingers laced together, and he doesn't let go until their waiter arrives with their food.

“So,” Niall says later, after Harry's entertained him with more rambling stories about his home and his family, glimpses of his life he's never so much as hinted at before. The waiter's already cleared their empty plates and Harry snatched up the check, insistent on paying. “You gonna walk me to my door again, give me a kiss on the cheek good night?”

“I'm a gentleman, Niall,” Harry tells him huffily, dropping a handful of bills onto the table. Niall wonders how that works, for a minute; what the conversion rate is for whatever monetary system Harry has back home. Shakes himself out of it a second later.

“Because I'd really like to invite you inside for a nightcap.”

Harry looks up at him, studying Niall with dark eyes. “All right,” he says after a long moment, and Niall knows he's not imaging the heat he sees reflected back at him.

-

When they arrive at Niall's, Harry's fidgety as Niall unlocks the door, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and running his fingers through his hair.

“We don't have to, like. Do anything,” Niall says once he's got the door unlocked, gesturing for Harry to go inside. “We can just have a drink, if that's all you want.”

Stepping across the threshold, Harry drags a hand down his own chest, smoothing out the fabric of his shirt. He looks a little lost, staring at the pattern, before he finally tips his chin back up to meet Niall's gaze. “That's not all I want,” he says, and his voice is lower than Niall's ever heard it.

Slowly, Niall shuts the door behind them, running his palm along the wall until he finds the switch, flicking on the light. Harry's murder lighthouse gaze is turned up to about an eleven, the sea-glass green of his eyes nearly swallowed by dark pupils.

“Tell me,” Niall says, fighting to keep his voice steady. “Tell me what you want.”

They haven't made it further than the living room, but Harry's staggering towards him with intent. Niall's back is to the wall, pinning him in place, but he wouldn't retreat now even if he could, especially when Harry steps in close enough that Niall can feel the heat radiating off him, the smell of his cologne overwhelming Niall's senses.

“You,” Harry says, the words sounding like they've been scraped from his throat. “Whatever you'll give me.”

There's probably more they should talk about, given everything that's happened, how many questions Niall still has, the lingering doubt still clouding the back of his mind, but Niall forgets everything he was supposed to be worrying about.

He forgets everything but the feeling of Harry's big hands cupping his jaw, the gentle touch at odds with the hungry look on Harry's face. One of his thumbs traces softly over Niall's cheek and he takes a shuddery breath, his gaze dropping to Niall's mouth before he leans in slowly enough that Niall could stop him, if he wanted. Harry would let him, would respect any limit Niall set, which is why Niall pushes up on his toes to meet Harry's mouth halfway.

It's like electricity buzzing along his skin when their lips connect, and Niall loses himself in the wet heat of Harry's mouth. Harry presses him firmly against the wall and Niall barely feels it, too busy sucking on Harry's lower lip, chasing the taste of him. It's like he's everywhere, surrounding Niall; his hands on Niall's face, sliding down to his neck, his soft hair tickling Niall's cheek, their chests pressing together, one of Harry's legs slotted between Niall's thighs. It's all Niall can feel, all Niall can smell, all he can taste – gasping into Harry's mouth as Harry rolls his hips, grinding against Niall.

Niall feels like they've been building towards this forever; a cracked dam breaking under the pressure because Harry's finally initiating something, and Niall can't get enough, hands scrabbling at Harry's back to pull him closer, kiss him deeper.

And Niall probably should have asked the question before now, but, well, there's not really a way to bring it up casually. “You, uh. With the whole,” he pauses, and Harry takes advantage to scrape his teeth against the skin of Niall's neck, sucking a mark over his pulse point. Niall tries to swallow, searching for a word. Comes up blank.

“--thing,” he says at last; gasps it, really, as Harry nips at the tender skin at the hollow of his throat. “You can have sex, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, absolutely,” Harry assures him, pressing a kiss to his jaw, then his chin, before returning his attention to Niall's mouth. “This is great, it'll be great, just some minor differences honestly, you won't notice a thing.”

“That doesn't actually make me feel better,” Niall says, a little breathlessly, but then Harry kisses him deeply, pulling at Niall's shirt until his fingers find the skin underneath, skating up the trembling muscles of Niall's stomach. He doesn't detach himself from Niall's mouth for a long time, which makes it hard to get Niall's shirt over his head, and immediately starts kissing him again the second Niall's free from the fabric, swallowing the hiss Niall makes as his bare skin touches the cold wall behind him.

Harry makes no effort to shed his own clothes, and Niall struggles with the few buttons he's done up, hands gone shaky with need. With absolutely no help from Harry he finally gets them unfastened, shoving the material off Harry's shoulders. They still haven't managed to turn on more than the hall light, and Harry's already plastered himself against Niall again, so Niall can't see to be sure, but Harry's chest _feels_ human enough, all firm muscle beneath smooth skin, already a little slick with sweat.

Harry gets a hand between them to rub down Niall's chest, lingering over the hair there, and he tongues at Niall's earlobe, which feels weirdly good. “God, Niall, can I suck you off?” he murmurs, and Niall actually shivers.

“Yes, fuck,” he croaks, and Harry sinks to his knees in one graceful motion, already going for his zipper.

“I've never done this before, with a human,” he says, wrestling with Niall's trousers. When he finally manages to tug the material past Niall's hips, he buries his face in Niall's crotch, breathing deep.

“Jesus, Harry,” Niall nearly groans, knocking his head back against the wall, and Harry grins up at him.

“You smell good. I like it.” Then he's pulling at Niall's boxers, sliding them down Niall's trembling legs until his cock is free. Harry eyes it for a moment, actually licking his lips, and Niall gives him a dubious look. “You don't have, like, an extra set of teeth back there, do you? Like a shark, or that thing from _Alien_?”

Harry drags his palms up Niall's bare thighs until he can pin his hips to the wall. Niall can feel his warm breath against his cock. “Is that your idea of dirty talk, Niall?”

“I should have known you'd be a tease,” Niall complains, and without warning Harry closes his lips around the head of his dick. If it weren't for Harry's hands holding him in place, Niall definitely would have bucked his hips, and Harry seems to know it, somehow managing to look smug despite having a mouthful of cock.

It takes an embarrassingly short amount of time before Niall's close, the suction of Harry's wet mouth driving him over the edge. He's got a hand tangled in Harry's hair, and it only took tugging too hard once, Harry groaning around his cock, for Niall to catch on that he liked it.

Harry's still got him pressed against the wall with one arm, the other between his own legs, and Niall drops his head back, breathing hard.

“Harry,” he manages. “'M close, 'm close, I'm – nghh,” he groans, knees going shaky as he comes, spilling down Harry's throat. Harry doesn't pull off, sucking him through it, swallowing around the head of Niall's cock before he lets it pop free with a wet noise.

Slowly, Niall sinks down to the floor, legs giving out partway through so that he ends up collapsing half on top of Harry. “D'you want me to...,” he starts, grabbing Harry's thigh with one hand and trying to slide it up, but he finds damp fabric instead of the hard length of Harry's cock like he'd been expecting, Harry's trousers not even unfastened.

Harry doesn't seem embarrassed, instead kissing Niall again, slow and deep. “That was so hot, Niall, oh my god,” he mumbles, and his voice is absolutely shot. “You taste so good, I could do that _forever_.”

“Maybe I could return the favor sometime,” Niall suggests, and Harry nips at his bottom lip.

“Next time,” he promises, and nuzzles his face into Niall's neck.

-

It's not hard to convince Harry to stay the night, and Niall loans him a clean pair of pants at Harry's request. He changes in front of Niall, giving him an eyeful of a perfectly normal looking dick, if a bit above average in size. Then he's crawling under the covers next to Niall, tucking in close. Niall made sure to turn the A/C up before stepping into the bedroom, so it feels nice to have Harry's warm arm draped across his waist, anchoring them together.

They're still tangled up come morning, Harry's dark curls spread across the pillow and pink mouth open in a snore. Twisting around until he's facing Harry, Niall takes a moment to study his face, the way his features are smoothed with sleep. Harry doesn't look younger, exactly, but there's something vulnerable about the lack of expression on his face, like Niall's finally seeing the real Harry. The skin beneath his eyes is a faintly bruised purple and there's a spot on his chin, and Niall has a hard time not leaning in to press a kiss to the bow of his lips.

Instead, he trails a hand down Harry's bare chest, feeling the firmness of his muscles underneath his palm. Harry snuffles a bit in his sleep, but doesn't wake up, curling towards Niall like it's instinct. When Niall reaches down to palm over the bulge in Harry's pants, his hips stir restlessly against the sheets, pushing into Niall's touch.

“Harry,” Niall whispers, sliding down the mattress and arranging himself between Harry's spread legs. He runs his thumb along the skin just above Harry's waistband, and Harry sighs a little. “Harry, wake up.”

Harry groans quietly, lashes fluttering. “Nng?” he says, which is almost a word.

“How do you feel about wake-up blow-jobs?” Niall asks, teasing a finger beneath the elastic to get at more of Harry's sleep warm skin.

“'S'nice,” Harry slurs, still half asleep. Niall can barely see the green of his eyes as he cracks them open to peer down at Niall, mouth curving up at the corners.

That's all the encouragement Niall needs to slide Harry's boxers down his hips. He's half hard already, his dick a little pinker than rest of his skin, and when Niall wraps his lips around the head, the taste is sharp; different, but not unpleasant.

Harry groans again, this time with more intent, and Niall pins his hips to the mattress with his hands before he starts to bob his head, working up a rhythm, his eyes slipping shut.

After a few minutes, there's a soft touch at his cheek, and Niall assumes it's Harry's hand, the brush of a fingertip. He registers the wet, sticky feeling against his skin a moment later, and his eyes fly open.

Both of Harry's hands are fisted in the sheets at either side of his hips, head tipped back so that all Niall can see is the bottom his chin and the long column of his throat. Something damp is still touching Niall's face, with steadily increasing insistence. He pulls off Harry's dick abruptly and whatever it is glides gently across his face, leaving behind a wet smear in its wake.

“What the fuck, Harry?” Niall yelps, scrabbling backwards, and Harry's head snaps up, eyes wide.

“Oh shit,” he says, voice still rough with sleep, and they're both staring between Harry's legs, where he seems to have grown a pair of extra dicks, thinner and shorter than the one Niall just had in his mouth.

“You have thirty seconds,” Niall says, as calmly as he can, ignoring the way his heart is thundering against his ribcage with adrenaline, “to explain what the fuck is happening right now.”

Harry winces, propping himself up on one elbow. “I meant to, uh. Explain before you… y'know. But I was half-asleep when you started, and it felt so – well. Um.” He scratches at his fringe, taking a moment to collect himself. “Remember last night, when I said there were just, like, minor differences?”

In disbelief, Niall gestures at Harry's… situation. “Are we calling this minor? Because from where I'm sitting, it really doesn't _look_ minor. What the hell, Harry!”

“Look, okay, I can – if I'm focused, I can control it, so you won't even-- it's just when I'm really turned on, it's – they're for like, when we, uh, they're meant to stabilize, right, it helps for reproduction purposes – don't _look_ at me like that!”

“Well how am I meant to look at you, when you've just told me your _extra dicks_ were trying to _stabilize my face!_ ”

For a long moment, Harry just stares at him, and then he bursts into sudden, wild laughter, collapsing back on the bed. “Oh my god, I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” he gasps. “I was gonna explain before, I swear, build up to it, but then you just – _extra dicks_ , Niall, _fuck_.”

Feeling put out, Niall scrubs the back of his wrist across his cheek, wiping away the slickness there. “The fuck do you call them, then.”

“I don't – there's not an English word for it, is there?” He props himself back up on his elbow, peering down at Niall once he's got his laughter under control. “I really am sorry. I didn't want to just, like. Spring that on you.”

Warily, Niall glances back between Harry's legs. He's gone a bit soft, and the extra – whatever they are – have retracted or something. Niall can't see any sign of them, but he doesn't look too closely. “Is that going to happen every time we, like...”

Harry shakes his head. “No, no, if I'm – if I focus, I can, uh. Well, I can't think of a good verb for it, but you know what I mean.” He bites his lip, the corner threatening to turn up in a smile. “You just can't make me lose my head like that, or I won't be able to stop it. God, Niall. You have no idea what you do to me.”

“Yeah, you're not blaming this one on me,” Niall says, but he can't help smiling back at Harry, shaking his head in disbelief. “God, you really are an alien, aren't you?”

“Extra-terrestrial,” Harry corrects, but he doesn't look too put out. He's actually beaming, rolling over onto his side to face Niall when he crawls his way back up the mattress. “You finally believe me, then?”

Niall pretends to think about it. “Guess so. I mean, I can see why you didn't lead with that evidence, even though you could've convinced me sooner...”

“Shut up,” Harry laughs. “Didn't want to scare you off, did I? Even though it's totally speciesist to, like, discriminate like that.”

Groaning, Niall presses his face into the pillow. “It's too early to be throwing around words like speciesist, Harry, god.”

Harry doesn't answer right away, and Niall eventually turns his face, cracking open one eye to look at him. “You okay, pet?”

Biting his lip, Harry gives him an intense look. “You really don't think it's too weird? Like, you're okay with me being… the way I am?”

He looks so worried, a furrow between his eyebrows, that Niall can't help wriggling closer to smack a kiss to his forehead. “'Course I'm fine with it, don't be an idiot. You just gotta give me a minute to catch up, when you keep springing shit like that on me, okay? Some of us have grown up thinking _Star Wars_ was just a work of fiction, you know?”

Harry's face goes comically blank. “ _Star Wars_?” he echoes.

“Don't tell me you've never even heard of – what kind of alien _are_ you, honestly.”

“ _Niall_ ,” Harry whines.

“Fine, whatever, _extra-terrestrial_ , christ.” He kisses Harry's nose, though, to soften the words, and Harry looks pleased, cheeks dimpling.

“Much better,” he says, before wrapping his arm around Niall to drag him into a cuddle. Niall doesn't put up much of a fight.

-

It's incredibly easy to fall into a habit of spending his days with Harry when he's not at work, to fall asleep with Harry in his bed more nights than not, waking up next to an expanse of sleep warm skin and a stray hair in his mouth that Harry can't seem to stop shedding.

The hard part is that Niall's still got bills to pay with his pair of dead end jobs, a loose cannon for a friend on the streets of Vegas and another who won't quit blaming himself for a mistake he didn't even make.

“That Liam?” Harry asks, hooking his chin over Niall's shoulder. He has to slouch down a bit to accomplish the feat, and his curls tickle Niall's cheek.

“Yeah,” Niall says, frowning down at his phone. “This whole Louis situation is hitting him hard. I don't think he knows what to do with himself without him.”

Harry hums and Niall can feel the way his chest reverberates with it. “Is Louis coming back?”

“I don't know,” Niall says honestly, feeling a little sick at the admission. “He's been gone this long before when he couldn't get off work or didn't have gas money, but it's not like him not to text or call to check in. I think I've only heard from him once or twice since he left.”

“Maybe he just needs some time,” Harry suggests, wrapping his arms around Niall's waist so he's hugging him from behind. He bites at Niall's ear, and it's kind of like being chewed on by an overeager puppy.

“Yeah, maybe.” Sinking back into Harry's chest, Niall lets out a small sigh. “Wish I knew how to make Liam feel better, in the meantime.”

Harry releases his ear. “Oh, that's easy!”

“If you say ice cream...”

“Even better,” Harry promises, eyebrows waggling. “ _Bowling_.”

Niall takes a moment to consider. “That… actually might work.”

-

Liam is, unsurprisingly, game for it. “This is gonna be so fun!” he beams, bouncing on the balls of his feet as they walk inside. “But you're sure you don't mind me crashing your date?”

“Liam,” Harry says, winding an arm around Liam's shoulders. They're about the same height, so he doesn't have to slouch at all. Niall didn't realize how tall he really was, all straightened up like that. “We invited _you_. You're our guest tonight.”

Niall turns his snort of laughter into a cough when Harry shoots him a look. “Guest of honor,” he agrees, clearing his throat. “You can even go first.”

The girl behind the counter looks young enough to still be in high school, and she snaps her gum as she hands over their shoes and assigns them a lane. Harry's a bit giddy with excitement as he sinks into one of the hard plastic chairs near the ball return, admiring the gaudy green and orange bowling shoes for a moment before kicking off his own glittering boots to slip them on. Liam's busy hunting down the perfect ball, testing the weight and slotting his fingers into the holes to be sure it's a good fit with grim concentration.

Harry insists that they put in nicknames instead of their real names “because that's what you _do_ when you go bowling with your friends, Niall” and then pouts something awful when he and Liam just put Harry's name as 'H.'

“That doesn't count,” he whines, demanding a real nickname, but forgets to be mad about it a moment later when Liam squares up in front of the lane, his carefully chosen ball in hand. Harry watches with rapt attention as Liam approaches the lane and releases the ball in a practiced throw. It arcs neatly down the lane into the pocket, knocking over all but one pin.

“That doesn't look too hard,” Harry mumbles to himself, just loud enough for Niall to overhear as Liam takes his second throw, managing to pick up a spare.

Biting back a smile, Niall reclines back in his seat to watch as Harry tries to line his feet up the same way Liam did, tongue caught between his teeth in concentration. He takes a few unsteady steps and hurls the ball down the lane, and all three of them watch as it tips into the gutter four feet past the foul line.

“You'll get the hang of it,” Liam says encouragingly.

Harry's next ball rolls into the gutter after two feet.

“Eventually,” Liam adds with slightly less optimism.

Niall orders them a pitcher of beer to liven the game up, and then a second because it's Friday night. It's hard to say if it's Harry's natural clumsiness or the alcohol, or maybe a potent combination of both, but his bowling skills don't improve as the night progresses. Partway through the second game, Harry's feet go sliding out from underneath him and he lands on the ground in a sprawl. His fingers are still jammed in the holes of the ball and he blinks down at it in confusion, as if he can't quite figure out the series of events that lead to his current predicament.

Liam's done even more damage to the beer than Harry has, and he doubles over, wheezing with laughter. “Oh my god, Harry, are you okay? I'm so sorry, I don't mean to laugh. It's just – god, that was so funny.”

Slowly, a grin spreads across Harry's face. “Fell over on purpose, didn't I?” he says, and neither Niall nor Liam has the heart to call him out on it. Liam does step forward to offer Harry a hand once he's managed to curb his laughter, pulling Harry to his feet, and Harry looks remarkably pleased with himself.

Once he's finished his turn two gutter balls later, but at least managed to stay on his feet, and Niall's bowled a slightly more impressive strike with more luck than skill, Harry tucks himself into Niall's side the moment he sits back down.

“Made him laugh,” Harry mumbles in undertone, nuzzling his face into Niall. “Admit it. Bowling was a _great_ idea.”

“You could've fallen over anywhere and achieved the same result,” Niall points out, and in response Harry just sticks his tongue out, directly into Niall's ear.

Niall jerks away, cupping his hand protectively over his wet, abused ear. “What is wrong with you, honestly.”

Harry just grins smugly.

By the time the third game rolls around, Harry is complaining that his thumb hurts and Liam's cheeks are flushed an inebriated red, although he's managed to win the first two games by an embarrassing margin. There's still half a pitcher left so they abandon their lane and slide into a sticky-tabled booth near the bar, where Liam orders them all a basket of chips and cheese.

Nobody mentions the elephant not in the room. At least, not until Liam's drained his glass, setting it back on the table with a bit more force than necessary. “So,” he says, not quite slurring his words. “Nothing from Louis?”

Niall glances at Harry, who looks a bit wild around the eyes at the sudden change in topic. “Uh, not since last week,” Niall says, as casually as he can manage. “But he posted a picture on his Instagram--”

“Yeah, a box of Coco Puffs, I saw. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm glad to know he's alive and all, but...” Liam trails off, his unfocused gaze on the mostly empty pitcher of beer. “I just want to know why he's shutting us out.”

Harry's sitting next to Niall in the booth, but it's still less than subtle when Niall digs his elbow into Harry's side the second Harry opens his mouth to respond.

“It's… complicated, I think,” Niall tries, while Harry pouts at him. “You and Louis, you've been friends for so long, and...” Well, there's no good way to finish that sentence. Niall takes a drink, nudging the basket of chips towards Liam.

“He's being a twat,” he says at last. “But these aren't going to eat themselves, so.”

Obediently, Liam takes a chip. Harry takes one too, tongue sticking out to catch the dripping cheese, and he beams at Liam as he chews. Liam smiles back with a bit more hesitation, looking unsure about what to do with all that attention focused on him.

“Thank you, Liam,” Harry tells him seriously, once he's swallowed. “These whatsits are delicious.”

“Cheese fries,” Liam corrects helpfully, calling it by the American name. “And it's no problem, Harry, honestly. I'm happy to share.”

“I can see why Louis likes you so much. You've got an old soul, I think, and really kind eyes, and your facial hair is really impress-- _ow_ , Niall, that hurt,” Harry says, rubbing at his ribs and shooting Niall a mildly outraged look. Niall glares right back and Harry throws his hands up. “What! I was just complimenting Liam. He deserves to be complimented, don't you think?”

“Yes, but--”

“Don't worry, Niall,” Liam interrupts, and for the first time since they settled in the booth, he looks genuinely amused. “I'm not trying to steal your man.”

“What, do you think I'm jealous, or something?” Niall demands. “ _Louis_ ' the one who should be jealous of you flirting with Harry, not – oh, fuck.”

Liam cocks his head, another chip halfway to his mouth. “What?”

“Nothing,” Niall says immediately. “It's just, you know how Louis gets, when he can't have all of your attention. That's all I meant.”

Lowering his cheesy chip, Liam frowns at him. “Louis doesn't get… oh. _Oh_.” The realization dawns clear on his face. “D'you think that's why – but he knows he's my best friend. He _knows_ that. He's got no reason to be jealous of anyone.”

Harry's got his lips pressed tightly together, the skin gone white, and he's staring at Niall with big eyes, clearly bursting to tell Liam the truth. Niall shakes his head slightly and Harry heaves a tragic sigh through his nose, nostrils flaring.

“Well, he's an emotional toddler,” Niall says, and next to him, Harry slouches in defeat. Liam looks back and forth between them, like he's trying to puzzle out what's really going on.

“You said he wasn't mad at me,” Liam says slowly. “But this sounds a lot like him being mad at me.”

Clutching the cold beer in his hand, Niall traces patterns in the condensation on the glass with his fingertips. “It's not--”

“It's like, the opposite of being mad,” Harry cuts in, and Liam's brow wrinkles in confusion.

“Okay, you've lost me.”

Niall rubs his fingers over his temple. “What Harry means to say is--”

“Louis' special, yeah? To you, I mean. And you're special to him.”

“Well, yeah,” Liam says, still looking perplexed. Harry's smile grows with cautious optimism, and then Liam adds, “I said that, didn't I? He's my best friend. 'Course he's special.”

Harry's smile collapses. “That's not really--”

“More beer?” Niall interrupts, stepping on Harry's foot under the table. He pours a healthy amount into Liam's glass before continuing. “Anyway, it's like. It's more of a self-preservation thing with Louis, I think. He knows he can be irrational about certain… things, so he's taking himself out of the equation altogether.”

Liam's gaze is surprisingly sharp when he meets Niall's eye. “I should still get a say in that, shouldn't I? If we're all part of this equation. Louis doesn't get to decide, all by himself, how we're going to be friends now. That's not fair.”

“No, Payno, it's really not,” Niall agrees, and pours the last of the beer into his own glass, knocking back a long swallow.

-

Later, after they've dropped Liam off at home and Harry's sprawled on the mattress next to him, snoring loudly, Niall sits in the glow of his mobile screen, staring at the string of unanswered texts he's sent Louis.

He types out a new message that's more direct than anything he's said before, hitting send before he talk himself out of it.

_You can't keep running away, or you're going to lose him altogether._

-

They're cooking tonight, just the two of them. Or, rather; Harry's cooking while Niall sits at the table and sips at a cocktail because Harry was offended by the notion that Niall might be a better cook.

Harry's bumbling around the kitchen in a frilly apron and not much else, bare arse on display every time he turns around to stir one of the saucepans on the stove. He makes a big show of bending over to pick something up off the ground, glancing back at Niall over one shoulder with big eyes, and honestly, Niall doesn't know what he did without Harry in his life.

“You're insufferable,” he says, setting down his cocktail and climbing to his feet.

Harry slowly straightens, grinning and backing up as Niall stalks closer, until his back hits the fridge and Niall's got him pinned in place, hands on either side of Harry's face.

“But you love me anyway,” Harry says smugly, breath hitching when Niall steps close enough to grind their hips together, only a few layers of fabric between them. His mouth finds Harry's, who parts his lips easily, letting Niall deepen the kiss, and Niall's palm skids down the smooth surface of the fridge when Harry bites at his lower lip. The movement knocks one of the magnets loose, the paper it had been holding in place fluttering to the floor.

Niall ignores it, content to keep kissing Harry, but after a few minutes Harry shoves him away with a yelp, hurrying to the stove to stir his chili as it threatens boils over.

“Some cook you are,” Niall grins, kneeling down to pick up the fallen magnet and the scrap of paper from the floor.

“Stop distracting me,” Harry complains, and even though his back is to Niall, Niall can hear the smile in his voice. Letting Harry focus on his culinary adventure, Niall turns to slap the paper back on the fridge. It's only then that he realizes what it is: the photograph of him and Zayn, from what seems like another lifetime.

“Hey, Harry,” he says slowly, gently pinning the photograph into place. “Did you really know Zayn?”

“What?” Harry asks, glancing back at Niall, spoon still in hand as he hovers over the stove.

Niall tips his head towards the photo. “You said that he looked familiar, but he left before you even got here.”

Harry suddenly looks guilty, eyes going wide. “Maybe he just has one of those faces.”

Niall stares at him. He's sort of forgotten how to breath. “Mate, there's no one else that looks like Zayn.”

“Niall,” Harry whines, dragging out several extra syllables in his name. “I wasn't supposed to tell you that _I'm_ not human. I can't go around outing other people. Or, well, not people. You get what I mean.”

“Oh my god.” Niall grabs the edge of the counter, gripping it hard enough that his fingers turn white. “Zayn's an alien too? I don't believe this.” His head is spinning, and he latches onto the first coherent thought that pops up. “He told me he was going back to England and wanted to cut ties so he could 'start fresh.' That son of a _bitch_.”

“Extra-terrestrial,” Harry corrects automatically. “And what exactly was he supposed to tell you? 'Sorry, I'm from another planet and I'd love to keep in touch, but we'd be violating about 7 interplanetary laws just using the equipment.' It's not like you'd even have been allowed to access it on this end, anyway, even if the base isn't that far from here.”

There's a lot to parse out there, including the fact that while Harry's Zayn impression isn't great, he takes a fair stab at his thick accent. Niall opens his mouth to reply, and what comes out is, “there are interplanetary laws?”

“None recognized by Earth, and I've violated one just telling you about this. God, Niall, I'm going to wind up in space jail because of you.”

“There is no such thing as _space jail_ ,” Niall scoffs. A second later he reconsiders. “Is there?”

Harry flaps the hand not holding his chili-stirring spoon. “Well, it's not _called_ that, obviously, but it's the same principal. You have no idea in how much trouble I could get in, if they find out about us.” He pauses. “ _I_ have no idea how much trouble I could get in, if they found out about us.”

Niall chews on a nail. “Why'd you tell me, then? Clearly Zayn had no trouble keeping it a secret.” He'd known all of them for _years_ without letting anything slip, but then he'd been about as cagey as Harry with personal details, looking back. Regardless, he was one of the best friends Niall had ever had, even if things at the end had stained his memories with a bitter aftertaste. Finding out the real reason Zayn cut ties so abruptly colors everything with a shiny new light, and it's going to take Niall a minute to catch up.

With a loud sigh, Harry runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back off his forehead. “I didn't mean to, obviously. It's a bit – relationships with humans are – Zayn was protecting you, honestly. But it – I'm glad you know about me. I really like you, Niall. And I trust you.”

Before Niall can formulate a response, Harry turns back around to poke at his chili again. “And for the record, I had no idea about you and Zayn when I met you. I don't even know him that well 'cause he was a few years ahead of me.”

“Well, you got the accent almost perfect.”

Harry snorts. “Our planet isn't so different from yours. His… region, I guess you'd call it, they all sound like that. There were a few of 'em in my field study group.”

“Huh,” Niall says, sinking back into his seat. He reaches for his cocktail, downing half of it before wiping his mouth with the back of his wrist. “Do you think we'll ever have a night where we can just relax, and you don't drop a bombshell that shatters my fragile perception of the world?”

Harry grins at him. “I hope not.”

-

The days are growing shorter and shorter, and there's a chill in the air when the sun sinks beneath the horizon line, leeching all the heat of the desert away with it.

Harry seems unbothered by the weather, wearing no more layers than he usually does when he drags Niall outside to his tiny lawn, just big enough for the two of them to lie side by side, grass tickling Niall's cheek as they watch the stars.

The night sky isn't as bright as it is in the middle of the desert, but Pahrump's a small enough town that there's barely any light pollution to dilute the stars. The cold light of hundreds of them glitters overhead, light-years and light-years away. Niall wonders if Harry can see any of the same stars from his home planet, if it's disorienting to look up at a sky with constellations in all the wrong places. He shivers, and Harry slips an arm over his shoulder, pulling him in close.

“Tell me a secret,” Harry says softly, after the minutes have slipped by, when Niall's eyes have nearly slid shut. He burrows closer to Harry's warm side, face tucked in Harry's neck.

“Like what?”

They're close enough that he can feel Harry shrug, the movement jostling him a bit. “I dunno. You know my biggest secret, something that no one else here knows.”

Niall cracks an eye open. “Didn't realize that was going to cost me.”

Slipping his fingers into Niall's hair to scratch at his scalp, Harry laughs quietly. “You don't have to tell me anything if you don't want. It's all right.”

“Mmm,” Niall mumbles. Harry's fingers feel good, the exact right amount of pressure to make Niall melt. “You wanted to know why I left Ireland and ended up here, didn't you? I could tell you that story, but it's not very happy.”

Harry fingers still for a moment. When he speaks again, it's so softly that Niall has to strain to hear. “Tell me.”

Niall takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. He starts at the very beginning, because Harry wants to know. “Ever since I was a little kid, I loved space. Wanted to be an astronaut more than anything else in the world. I remember watching the launch of the ISS on the news, thinking how cool it would be to be up there, looking down on the world.”

He keeps his gaze fixed on the night sky as he talks. It's easier that way. “I applied to Purdue because they've produced like, a crazy amount of astronauts, and the day I got my acceptance letter, I almost shit myself. Big deal for an Irish kid growing up in the middle of nowhere, you know?”

There's a quiet huff of laughter from Harry at that, and Niall feels his mouth pull up into a small smile. “Made it all the way to junior year before everything went pear shaped. Was having a kickabout with some mates when I felt this twinge in my knee. I waited a few weeks before going to the doctor, but in the end it didn't really matter. They told me I needed knee surgery, or I'd end up fucking it up to the point I'd be on crutches the rest of my life. Said it a bit nicer, mind, but that was the gist.”

Harry's arm tightens around Niall's shoulders, but he waits patiently for Niall to continue. “The recovery was awful and PT was like torture, but I got most of my mobility back, in the end.”

He runs his hand through the grass next to him, feels the strands slip through the spaces between his fingers. “Made a full recovery, they said, but it wasn't enough. Couldn't pass the physical to be approved for any space flights. Everything I worked for, all those years, just… gone, because of my stupid dodgy knee.”

“Niall,” Harry says, voice quiet, but Niall soldiers on.

“It was right around spring break that I made the decision to drop out. Turned in my papers and went on holiday to Vegas. I didn't even tell any of my mates what I'd done, and ended up drunk and crying on some poor bartender's shoulder. Blessing in disguise, that, because he took me back to his and let me sleep it off on his sofa.”

He can hear Harry's sharp intake of breath when it clicks. “The bartender was Louis, wasn't it?”

“Yeah,” Niall confirms. “Zayn was his flatmate at the time, and Liam was up there for the weekend. I spent the rest of my holiday with them and when my lease was up at the end of the semester, ended up moving out here. Seemed as good a place as any, y'know? Vegas turned out to be a bit much for me full time, but Liam let me crash on his sofa for a few weeks and I dunno. Put down roots here, without really meaning to.”

Harry's quiet next to him, and Niall just breathes for a moment, feeling the soft grass beneath him, the cold night air harsh against his skin.

“Thanks for telling me,” Harry says at last, soft and painfully sincere, and Niall shrugs one shoulder.

“You wanted to know.”

Rolling over, Harry props himself up on one elbow, catching Niall's eye. “Would you ever go back to school? Maybe you couldn't be an astronaut, but there's still a lot you could do, right?”

Shaking his head, Niall tries to explain. “No, it's – like, my knee injury was the nail in the coffin, you know?”

Harry gives him a blank look. “The what?”

“It's an expression, um, it means like – my grades weren't where they should have been, honestly, and I was really struggling with a lot of the math. I could've pushed through, maybe, but I was already pushing myself so hard. I dunno. It was probably just a pipe dream, even without the dodgy knee. That just cemented it.” He laughs, and it comes out a bit rusty, like it's been years since he's laughed instead of just hours. “I've never actually told anyone that part before.”

Harry's brow wrinkles. “Not even Liam or Louis?”

With a wry smile, Niall says, “oh, I mean, they heard the sob story, and they've seen the knee scar. But not the part where I wasn't gonna make it anyway. That one was too hard for me to admit, then. Also, while I'm being honest: I hate small spaces. 'M a bit claustrophobic.”

Harry blinks down at him.

“What?”

“You would've made a terrible astronaut.”

Niall snorts. “Thanks, mate. Appreciate that.”

“No, no, no,” Harry soothes, running a big hand down Niall's chest. He doesn't shiver at the feeling, he doesn't. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean that.”

“You absolutely did!” Niall argues, but there's a looseness around his lungs, like he'd gotten so used to the constant pressure gripping at him like a vice he forgot it was there until it finally snapped, releasing him. He breathes in, deep and easy.

Tucking his face into Niall's neck, Harry mouths at his skin. “Okay, maybe I meant it a little,” he mumbles, before lifting his head again. “But I'm – I'm glad, you know? That you didn't. Because we would have missed each other.”

Niall can't help smiling up at him. “Like two ships passing in the night, huh?”

“The universe is a really big place, Niall,” Harry tells him earnestly. “It's kind of a miracle we met in the first place, isn't it?”

“You're the sappiest alien I've ever met,” Niall says, and Harry nips at his bottom lip.

“Extra-terr--”

“--estrial, I know,” Niall finishes, pushing his fingers into Harry's hair to grab on and hold him close. “You're easy to wind up, you know that?”

In answer, Harry just kisses him.

-

It's not long before Harry gets handsy, one hand slipping down to palm over the bulge in Niall's trousers, and then they're both breathing hard in Niall's tiny front lawn.

“We should – bedroom,” Niall pants, pulling back from Harry long enough to get the words out.

“Mmhmm,” Harry mumbles, busy sucking a mark onto Niall's neck, and Niall shoves at him, laughing.

“God, Harry, I have _neighbors_ , c'mon, you fucking exhibitionist.”

It takes a bit more prompting, but then they're both on their feet, tripping their way through Niall's dark house to his bedroom. Harry walks him backwards, too preoccupied with kissing him to let him see where he's going, until the backs of Niall's knees hit the edge of his mattress and they both go toppling over, Niall letting out a groan when Harry lands on top of him.

“Sorry, sorry,” Harry mumbles, fingers already scrabbling for the hem of Niall's shirt, pushing it up and tugging impatiently when it gets caught beneath Niall's arms. It doesn't take Niall much effort to get Harry's three buttons undone and then his shirt is fluttering to the floor next to Niall's, Harry leaning down to kiss him again, pressed chest to chest. He's rolling his hips down against Niall's like he can't help it, feeding broken little whimpers into Niall's mouth as Niall clutches at his back, pulling him closer.

Harry pulls back after a moment, mouth a bruised red and hair flowing past his shoulders in messy waves. His eyes look almost black in the dark, the only light from the waning crescent moon's pale glow through the window, gilding his edges a pearly white. “Will you fuck me?” he asks, voice rough, and Niall sucks in a sharp breath.

“Jesus, Harry.”

Harry's knees are pressed to the mattress on either side of Niall's waist and he drags one hand down Niall's bare chest, tracing over the trail of hair that disappears into Niall's trousers. “Please,” he all but begs, dipping his fingertips beneath the waistband.

“God, yes, yes,” Niall pants, reaching down to unfasten Harry's trousers, pushing the material past his hips. It takes them a few fumbling moments to get undressed, Harry incapable of going more than a few seconds without kissing any part of Niall he can reach, but finally they're skin to skin, Harry's hard length pressing into the crease of Niall's hip.

Niall trails a hand down Harry's back, over the swell of his arse, squeezing a handful just to hear Harry whine. When he presses a fingertip between Harry's cheeks, he's already wet, Niall's finger slipping in easily up to the knuckle.

“Christ,” Niall groans, working a second finger in immediately. Harry presses back against him, breathing raggedly.

“You don't have to – I'm good,” Harry tells him, gasping out the words. “C'mon, put your dick in me.”

“Oh my god, Harry,” Niall says, but he pulls his fingers free, slapping his other hand out to pull open the drawer in his nightstand, digging around until his fingers close over a condom. His hands shake as he tries to roll it on, and Harry isn't any help, preoccupied with flicking his thumb over Niall's nipples to see what kind of reaction he can get.

“You're a menace,” Niall growls once he's finally got the condom on, hands gripping the dip of Harry's waist hard enough to bruise.

“You love it,” Harry counters, and braces his hands on Niall's shoulders as he lifts his hips. Niall reaches down with one hand to line himself up, and the second the head of his dick slips into place, Harry's sliding down in one smooth motion, until he's seated on Niall's lap.

Niall's eyes might actually roll to the back of his head, Harry's so tight and wet and warm around him, and it takes him a bit to remember to move, his hips pumping a little unsteadily before he works into a rhythm.

Harry arches back, chin tipped up so his hair spills down his back, his pale throat exposed to the wash of moonlight. His skin is almost glowing, glistening with sweat, and he looks transcendent, chest heaving as he rides Niall, choked off noises getting caught in his throat. Niall's gripping Harry's waist with both hands, holding him steady as he fucks up into him, forcing his eyes open even as they want to slip shut, because Harry looks ethereal like this, and Niall doesn't want to miss a second.

When he gets close his hips start to stutter, and he's still holding tightly onto Harry, fingers almost numb. Harry wraps a hand around his own dick then, matching his pace to the snap of Niall's hips.

“'M close,” Niall manages, eyes squeezing shut without his permission. “Fuck, Harry, I'm gonna--”

“Yeah,” Harry breathes, and even that one word sounds wrecked. It's enough to tip Niall over the edge, gasping soundlessly as he comes, spilling into the condom. Harry follows him a second later with a hoarse shout, stripping Niall's chest before collapsing on him, breathing hard.

His weight feels nice at first, but steadily more constricting as they come down. As if Harry can sense Niall's growing panic, he slides off him until he's plastered to Niall's side instead, head pillowed on Niall's shoulder and his arm looped across his stomach.

“Oh my god, Haz, that was...” Niall starts to say, finally cracking open his eyes, but the rest of his sentence gets lost when he glances down at his chest. He goes very, very still, trying to work out exactly what he's seeing.

“Um, Harry?” he asks, focusing on keeping his voice even and calm. “Why the _fuck_ am I covered in purple spunk?”

“What?” Harry asks, lifting his head, and his eyes widen when he takes in the mess on Niall's chest. It _feels_ like steadily drying come, growing more and more uncomfortable by the minute, but it's a deep, shimmering purple that looks like someone spilled an inky, star-filled galaxy across Niall's skin.

Staring at Niall's chest with something like wonder in his eyes, Harry slowly touches his hand to Niall's sternum, dragging his fingers through the stickiness.

“I never thought – _oh_ ,” Harry says, nonsensically. Then he's turning his head, his palm hot against Niall's cheek as he angles his face over for a kiss. It's gentler than the way he was kissing Niall almost desperately before, but no less intimate, and Niall forgets for a minute that Harry's inked all over him, losing himself to the heat of Harry's mouth.

When Harry finally breaks the kiss, he stares at Niall intensely, eyes big and round. “I think I'm – Niall, I'm in love with you.”

It feels like Niall's missed a step, stomach swooping with the sudden freefall before catching himself. “You – what?”

Harry's gaze drops to Niall's chest again, lips curving into a tiny, private smile. “It's, uh. It's an alien thing,” Harry says, the word slipping out easily, which is the only clue that he's as rattled as Niall is. “When we, like. Our come, I think you call it, it – it's got to do with fertility, honestly, but color changes, they signify, like, an emotional bond, and it's. It's.”

“Harry. Focus,” Niall says, cupping Harry's cheek with one hand, thumb brushing against the corner of his mouth. He ignores the way it trembles. “You're not making any sense, petal.”

Gaze latching onto Niall's, Harry nods minutely. “Okay, okay. When we come, the color of it, um, it signifies the, like, intensity of our emotional bond to our partner. Ranges from a pale lilac, almost white, when you're strangers, to um. To this,” Harry says, gesturing to Niall's chest.

Niall breathes out shakily. “And what's _this_ mean?”

“Love,” Harry answers easily, breathlessly. “The strongest bond. It would, uh. If you were like me, the chances of conception, when it's this dark, are like. Astronomically high. It's kind of a built-in birth control system, so that partners who are, y'know, emotionally linked are more likely to have offspring.”

“Conception?” Niall repeats, heart thudding in his chest.

“Oh, fuck off, I can't get you pregnant,” Harry tells him, but he rubs his hand gently over Niall's stomach, like maybe he wouldn't mind. “We have actual birth control too, so it's not like purple come automatically equals offspring. It's more, uh, like a cultural thing, you know. Like how wedding dresses here are white? For us, it's deep purple.”

“Oh my god,” Niall says. “Can I just – can I take a moment to process this?”

Harry nods immediately. “Do you want some space?” One of his legs is threaded between Niall's, his arm draped across Niall's purple splattered chest, his face near enough to Niall's that his soft hair tickles Niall's cheek.

“No, I – stay. Please,” Niall says, and the relief in Harry's expression is immediate. He presses a chaste kiss to Niall's cheek before settling his head down on the pillow next to him, so close that Niall can feel the warm puffs of his breath as he tries to steady his own lungs.

“You've been wearing a lot of purple lately,” Niall realizes a minute later, the thought suddenly slotting into place. “Is it because of – this?”

“I mean...” Harry says, and when Niall turns his face to the side, Harry's smiling almost shyly at him. “Yeah? I figured you wouldn't catch on, not knowing where it came from, but it felt right.”

Niall stares at him in wonder. “Are you honestly telling me that you wear come-colored shirts to tell someone you love them? That's a little fucked up, Haz.”

Harry's laugh is sudden and bright. “Huh. I never thought about it like that,” he says, curling closer to Niall. “Never thought I'd meet someone that turned me purple, actually.”

Letting his eyes close, Niall presses his forehead to Harry's. “For the record,” he says, “I still find this weird. But, uh. For what it's worth… I'm a little in love with you, too.”

It's a bit gross, falling asleep with Harry's mess still all over him, but Harry doesn't seem to mind, so Niall lets himself slip under, Harry's arm like an anchor around his middle.

-

Louis will answer about every sixth text Niall sends him, mostly with one word replies, and none of Liam's, from what Liam's told him. It's the longest stretch he's gone without returning to Pahrump since Niall's known him, and the way that Liam will worry his bottom lip between his teeth whenever the subject of Louis comes up during conversations tells him this prolonged absence is beyond unusual for Louis.

Niall's about ready to drive up to Vegas to corner Louis down, talk some sense into him face to face, but Liam beats him to the punch.

Of course, it takes Niall a bit to figure that piece of the puzzle out. He's close to drifting off, snug under his duvet with Harry's arm around his waist, when his phone buzzes loudly on his bedside table with a new text.

Bleary-eyed, Niall skims his phone screen, sitting up when he sees it's from Louis. He hasn't reached out first in at least a month, so that in and of itself is unusual. The actual message is even more concerning.

_Can u be at teh bustop in 2 hours? Im sendimg liam home_

Next to him, Harry stirs, trying to pull Niall back down into a cuddle. Rubbing a soothing hand over Harry's bare arm and shoulder, the closest parts of him that Niall can reach, Niall quickly calls Louis.

It rings five times before going to voicemail. “Son of a bitch,” Niall mutters, typing one handed to text him back, his other one still busy touching Harry's skin.

_What happened? Where are you and liam???_

A few tense minutes go by before Louis finally responds.

_Arrival time 230am at the greyhoudn station. Thnx_

He doesn't send anything else, and when Niall tries calling Liam, it goes straight to voicemail.

“ _Fuck_.”

“Ev'rything all righ'?' Harry mumbles sleepily, and Niall cards his fingers through Harry's hair, brushing back the soft strands. Harry presses into the touch with a sigh.

“No idea,” Niall replies. “But we'll find out in two hours.”

-

The bags under Harry's eyes are even more pronounced now than they were when he first crawled into bed, because he's been pulling long hours in preparation of his next trip to gather more plant samples, or whatever it is that he does when he travels, but he still insists on coming along with Niall to the bus stop.

“You don't have to come, honestly. Whatever state Liam's in I can handle, I promise.”

“I know,” Harry says, yawning widely. “But I want to be there.”

It's hard to argue with that. Piling into Niall's jeep, they drive in comfortable silence, pulling into the car park at the bus station a few minutes before two-thirty. Harry's quiet in the passenger seat, the radio turned down low, and Niall's fingers are tight on the steering wheel as they wait. 

Either the bus is running late, or Louis' full of shit – equally likely scenarios – and Niall's close to giving up and driving back home, calling the whole thing a wash, when a set of headlights finally cuts through the dark, chugging steadily closer. They watch silently as the bus pulls into the station, rolling to a stop under the orange wash of industrial lighting with a mechanical groan. A moment goes by before the doors slide open, and a middle-aged man steps off, overnight bag in hand. He steps out of the halo of light, disappearing into the darkness surrounding them, and the door remains open behind him like a yawning mouth. Another, longer moment drags by, and Niall's sure the bus is about to close its doors and pull away into the night, when finally a second person staggers down the steps, stumbling on the last one so that they hit the pavement with a lurch.

“Oh, christ,” Niall says, shutting off the ignition and scrambling out the door. Harry follows behind him at a slower pace, so it's Niall that catches Liam a few feet from the bus, jamming his shoulder under Liam's armpit before he falls. Liam smells like he's been swimming in a vat of beer, and in the orange glow of the station lights, Niall can see how red and puffy his eyes are, the misery on his face plain as day.

“Shit, Liam, what happened?”

On Liam's other side, Harry grabs Liam's arm to drape it over his shoulders, taking some of his weight off Niall. They stumble towards Niall's jeep unsteadily, a three-headed monster, Liam tripping over nothing every other step.

“'M sorry,” he croaks. “I didn't mean – I jus' wanted to talk to 'im.”

Both Niall and Harry have an anchoring arm around Liam's waist, and Harry slides his hand down until it's covering Niall's on the small of Liam's back, linking their fingers. Together, they bundle Liam in the backseat, and he's cooperative, if uncoordinated.

“I'm sorry,” he repeats, over and over, while Harry buckles his seat belt, adjusting the shoulder strap with careful fingers and smoothing it into place with the devotion of a mother.

“Tell us what happened,” Niall says again, finding Liam's hand in the dark and squeezing his fingers gently.

Rolling his head against the seat until he's facing Niall, Liam blinks at him, struggling to focus. In the dark, Niall can just make out the whites of his eyes in the barely there reflection of a nearby streetlamp. Most of his face is shrouded in shadow, but the parts of Liam's face that he can see are pale, glistening faintly with a sheen of sweat.

“He wouldn't call me back. He wouldn't call back, and I was so – I just wanted to make sure he was okay, you know?” He looks at Niall, eyes pleading, and Niall nods, cupping Liam's cheek.

“Of course, love.”

Swallowing audibly, Liam continues in an oddly detached voice, “So I – I went to his apartment, but he wasn't home. Wouldn't answer the door. Tried the bar next, and he was working.” He trails off, and it takes a moment before he starts up again, like he's trying to remember the words, catching them before they slip through his fingers like loose grains of sand. Niall exchanges a worried glance with Harry. “Said he couldn't talk at work, and that I needed to order a drink or get out.”

Niall sucks in a breath. “Jesus.”

“I shouldn't have drank so much – he didn't get off 'til late, and I just – I asked why he was ignoring me, why he hated me now, because he's my best friend, and I love him, and he – he –”

“What he'd say?” Niall asks, softly as he can.

Liam laughs, but there's no humor in it. “Nothing. I threw up on his shoes. Lou got me a bottle of water and then drove me to the bus station. Said he didn't want to talk to me, in this condition.” The bite in his tone makes it clear the words weren't originally his.

On the other side of the backseat, Harry opens his mouth like he wants to say something, but closes it a second later, shaking his head.

“I want to go home. Niall, can I please go home?” Liam asks in a small voice.

Smacking a gentle kiss to Liam's temple, Niall says. “'Course. Hang tight, okay, Li? Be home before you know it.”

Niall climbs into the front seat while Harry makes himself comfortable in the back next to Liam, burrowing into his side and stroking a hand down Liam's arm. He catches Niall's eye in the rear view mirror and Niall offers him a tired smile.

“Thanks,” he mouths, and Harry's mouth pulls up at the corners for a brief moment before he turns back to Liam, fussing over him for the rest of the drive.

-

Together, they manage to get Liam bundled inside and into bed, pulling off his shoes and setting a glass of water on the table next to the bed for him.

“My car,” Liam mumbles, sounding half asleep. “I need – I left it there. How'm I gonna get to work?”

“Tomorrow's Sunday. No work for you. We'll figure it out in the morning, yeah?” Niall reassures him.

“'Kay,” Liam says, eyes fluttering shut. He's snoring a second later, which explains the lack of fight he put up, and Niall and Harry tread as quietly as they can out of the room.

“Louis sent him home on the bus when he drove there?” Harry whispers once they're in the hall, heading towards the door of Liam's apartment to let themselves out.

“Must've been too dangerous to let Liam sleep it off on his sofa,” Niall mutters back. “He might have run out of ways to deflect in the morning.”

Frowning, Harry glances back towards Liam's room before they slip out the door. Overhead, the sky is filled with a riot of stars, their cold light winking impassively down at them.

“He's really upset,” Harry says, and he could be talking about either one of Niall's idiot friends.

“I know,” Niall replies, digging his keys out of his pocket. “I know.”

-

It's late afternoon before Liam's up for the drive to Vegas to pick up his car, and he's stone-faced most of the trip, expression hard enough to crack when Louis doesn't respond to any of his calls or texts. He gives up when they hit the city limits, slipping his phone into his pocket and staring vacantly out the window. By some miracle there are no parking tickets on his car when they arrive, but it feels like a small consolation prize, given the circumstances.

"We could swing by the store," Niall offers, fingers tapping a nervous rhythm against the steering wheel. "Pick up a carton of eggs and throw 'em at Louis' car."

"Think I just want to go home," Liam says quietly. "I'm pretty beat." His skin hasn't quite regained full color, still peaky from his hangover, and the bags beneath his eyes are an obvious bruised purple. Unbuckling his seat belt with slow movements, he lets himself out of Niall's jeep, but pauses before making the trek across the street to his own car.

"Thanks, Nialler. For driving me all this way. I appreciate it, you know."

Niall musters up a weak smile. It's weird, seeing Liam so subdued. Niall wants to go bang on Louis' door himself, lay into him the way he deserves, but he's pretty sure he'd say something he'd regret, and unlike Liam, Louis' not the type to forgive easily. There are enough hurt feelings as is.

"'Course, Payno. That's what friends are for. You'd do the same for me."

The smile Liam offers him in return is an even weaker version of Niall's, but maybe that's just a side effect of the hangover he's nursing. At least, that's what Niall tells himself as he waits for Liam to make his way across the street to his car, watching as Liam pulls away from the curb and turns the corner back towards the highway. 

After a moment, Niall follows after him, gaze flicking back every so often to watch the Vegas skyline grow smaller and smaller in his rear view mirror, until it winks out all together, swallowed by the horizon. By the time he pulls into the driveway back at home, Harry's nearly finished packing, suitcase stuffed full even though he's only leaving for a few days. Niall frowns as Harry tries to stuff one last pair of socks in, brow furrowed in concentration. 

"Haven't you studied enough trees already? If you've seen one, you've seen them all. You should stay here with me. We could stay in bed all day tomorrow," Niall suggests, flopping down onto the sofa. 

"Don't tempt me, Niall," Harry tells him, fighting the zipper on his suitcase. It appears to be a losing battle. "And anyway, I have two words for you: pine trees."

"Pine trees," Niall echoes. "You're leaving me for pine trees."

Abandoning his half-zipped case, Harry climbs onto the sofa next to him, and keeps on going until he's sat in Niall's lap. "Niall," he says, pressing a string of kisses to Niall's mouth, his cheek, his jaw. "They stay green _all year round_. Even in _winter_."

Niall cups Harry's face in his hands, holding him still so that he can kiss Harry with intent, licking into the heat of his mouth. Harry melts into his touch, kissing Niall back with enthusiasm. "Fine," Niall says, a long time later, chest heaving a bit as he tries to catch his breath. "Go, see your pine trees. Just as long as you come back home to me."

"Always," Harry promises, face still close enough to Niall's that he can feel the warmth of his breath against his lips, before he leans in to kiss him again.

-

Niall gets the call right when he's finishing up a shift at the coffee shop, hanging his apron up and slipping out the back door. He's tired, the emotional toll of keeping up with his friends catching up to him, and his feet drag with every step as he walks towards the back lot where his jeep is parked.

“Hello?” he answers, and a thread of nerves thrums just beneath his skin when the station's programming director turns out to be on the other end of the line. Winston asks to meet with him the next day, and Niall agrees before disconnecting the call with clammy fingers. Louis hasn't made an appearance on the show in ages, but Niall felt like he'd been holding his own okay, stepping up to the plate in his absence.

He barely sleeps all night, tossing and turning in an empty bed. Harry's not due back until tomorrow, and it only increases Niall's restlessness, nothing to anchor him against the brutal undercurrent of his own anxiety.

When Niall arrives at the studio in the morning, the skin under his eyes a bruised purple but his hair carefully combed, he's lead almost immediately into Winston's office.

“Hi, Mr. Winson, how are you?” he asks politely, taking the offered seat.

“I've told you, call me Ben,” Ben says, smiling warmly. Niall feels himself relax incrementally. Ben never smiles like that when he's about to yell at Niall for letting Louis open his big mouth on air.

“We're both busy men, so let's get straight to the point, shall we?” Ben asks, barreling forward before Niall gets a chance to even nod his agreement. “We'd like to offer you an opportunity, Niall. Your little show has garnered quite a bit of attention, and people – industry people – have been noticing. You're making a real name for yourself.”

He feels himself flush at the compliment and hopes it's not too obvious. “I, uh – thank you, sir. I had no idea.”

“Yes, well.” Ben steeples his hands together, studying Niall with a critical eye. “There's going to be an opening in the near future on our morning show. One of the co-hosts is going on extended leave, and I'm looking for someone to fill in.” He pauses. “Given what we've seen from you, we'd like to offer you the opportunity, Niall.”

“I--” Niall starts, but Ben holds up a hand, cutting him off.

“It's also important that you know that there's a good chance this could end up being a permanent position, if things go well. I want you to keep that factor in mind, when you're considering if this is the right move for you. We're in this for the long-term, Niall. We don't want to lose you.”

Niall swallows, trying to dislodge the feeling of his heart caught in his throat. “That's – I don't even know what to say. It's been a pleasure, honestly, working for you. Can I – is it all right if I take some time, before I give you an answer?”

“Of course,” Ben says, sliding a piece of paper across the desk to Niall and wrapping his knuckles against it. It looks like a job description, outlining all the terms. “You don't have to make a decision now. It'll mean giving up your current show, so I want you to feel sure about this. Think it over, let me know by the end of the week.”

“I can do that,” Niall tells him, taking the paper, and Ben gives him an appraising look.

“Just so you know... I think you could really make a name for yourself in radio, Niall. This might just be your calling.”

Niall's face feels rubbery, he's grinning so hard. “Thanks, Ben. That means a lot. I'll let you know soon, but I'm definitely leaning towards yes.”

Ben looks pleased, shaking Niall's hand and giving him a few firm pats on the back before he walks out of the office, head spinning. He can't stop smiling, even when he makes a pit stop at the store to pick up a bottle of cheap champagne and something for the grill. Harry shouldn't be home for hours yet, so Niall's got time to throw together a decent meal to celebrate the good news.

When Niall pulls into the driveway, Harry's car is already parked out front, so Niall quickly amends his plans. It's more fun cooking with Harry, anyway, and seeing the outraged faces he makes when Niall inadvertently offends his kitchen prowess.

Gathering up his grocery bags one handed, Niall lets himself inside, calling out for Harry. There's no answer, so he heads to the kitchen first, putting the champagne and meat in the fridge. Even if he hadn't seen Harry's cloud of hair out the kitchen window, by now Niall would have guessed he was out on the back patio, gaze trained on the horizon.

Harry doesn't look up when Niall slips out the backdoor, but he sort of lists to the side when Niall sits down next to him, curling into Niall on instinct. Niall slides his arm around Harry's waist and Harry finally turns his face, hunching down to press a kiss to Niall's shoulder.

“I've got big news,” Niall tells him, words bubbling from his throat with excitement.

“Tell me,” Harry says, pressing himself closer to Niall's side.

“They're offering me a promotion at the station, Haz. A chance to fill in as a co-host on the morning show. I'd get an actual salary, and if I do well enough… fuck, Ben said they might keep me on permanently. I'd have to give up my show, but at this point how much material do I even have left? If this goes well, I could quit either the pub or the coffee shop, maybe both.”

“Niall, that's _amazing_ ,” Harry says, peppering the side of Niall's face and neck with kisses, wrapping his arms around Niall when he tries to squirm away, laughing.

“God, I still can't believe it. I haven't stopped smiling since Ben asked me. I still have to formally accept, and they told me to take some time to think about it, but I honestly can't think of a single reason to say no.”

“You deserve it,” Harry murmurs into the skin of Niall's neck. “You deserve all the best things.”

He doesn't pull away, his warm breath puffing against Niall's shoulder, hair tickling Niall's cheek, and Niall melts into him. “Wanna stay just like this forever,” Harry mumbles, and Niall laughs again.

“Could think of worse things, I suppose.”

It takes Harry a long time to lift his head, and when he finally does, his eyes are big and shiny, wet with unshed tears.

“All right, pet?” Niall asks, cupping Harry's face, thumb soothing over his cheekbone. Harry closes his eyes, turning his face into the touch.

“I have some news, too,” he says, and there's something in his tone that makes Niall freeze, heart locking up inside his chest. “It's not… it's not good.”

“What is it? Are you okay?”

Harry shakes his head. “I'm fine, it's not – I mean, physically, I'm fine. Emotionally, I'm--” he cuts himself off, sniffling. After a few shaky breaths, he continues, “They told me that my research grant was getting extended, said they had all the paperwork, that everything was fine. But this morning I found out – I don't know what happened, but something with the extension fell through. They're not going to let me stay here beyond my original deadline.”

The realization is like a slap to the face, leaving him stung. “So you're leaving.”

Harry looks at him miserably, nodding his head. “Yeah,” he croaks.

“Leaving, like – back to your base camp, leaving? Or for some remote corner of the Earth?”

Harry's eyes flutter shut, and Niall can see the way his throat works as he swallows. When he opens them again, the wet sheen of tears makes the green look so bright it almost hurts to look at. “No, not to base, and not to some remote corner of the Earth. I'm – I have to go back home, Niall.”

Niall's pulse is loud in his ears, the rush of blood blocking out everything else for a moment that feels like infinity, but can't be longer than a few seconds.

“The one that's three thousand light-years away,” Niall says hollowly. The planet so far it's not even a speck in the night sky, completely out of Niall's reach. The high he's been riding since Winston's office dissipates, his stomach sinking. “Don't suppose Skype will work out so well, will it?”

Harry looks pained. “I'm sorry, Niall. I really thought the extension had gone through. I thought – I have so much more to study, and I can't--” he cuts himself off, rubbing a hand over his mouth. “I don't want to leave you, but I don't have a choice.”

Niall tries to take a deep breath, but his lungs won't cooperate. “How much time do we have left?”

Harry doesn't immediately answer, so Niall says again, “Harry. Tell me how much time we have.”

When he finally speaks, he addresses the cracked patio beneath them. His voice is so small. “Two weeks.”

It feels like all the air has been punched out of him, and there wasn't much to begin with. “Fuck.”

“I know,” Harry says hoarsely, wiping at his nose. “I'll have to, like. Finish up my research, I guess, but I just wanna be here, with you.”

“We'll make the best of it, yeah?” Niall says, brushing a strand of hair away from Harry's face. “Every second we've got, for the next two weeks.” Harry hugs him, then, hiding his face in the juncture between Niall's neck and shoulder, and Niall rubs a hand up and down his back.

He doesn't ask if there's a chance that Harry could ever come back to Earth, because he doesn't think he can handle hearing the answer out loud.

-

Harry's in his bed every night after that, even when he drags himself in so late it's gone morning. He's working frantically to finish his research, to collect the samples he needs to continue his work planet-side, and if Niall were less selfish he'd tell Harry to focus on that, to stop spreading himself so thin.

But each night that the mattress dips next to him, Niall turns automatically towards Harry, fingers seeking out the warmth of his skin in the darkness, touching him everywhere Niall can reach. They wake up still tangled up in each other, and at this rate Niall's never going to get the purple stains out of his sheets.

Every kiss is like a countdown to their last and Niall savors each one, licking inside Harry's mouth, chasing the taste that's uniquely Harry. It's like he's stockpiling for a winter that will never end, a desperate task he'll never achieve, but he doesn't stop trying.

Harry kisses him back just as fiercely, hands tracing over the contours of Niall's back, the dip of his waist, as if he's trying to memorize the curves of Niall's body.

“Did you accept the promotion yet?” he asks a few nights later, curled around Niall in the dark, the sheets draped over their hips.

“Been forgetting to call Ben back,” Niall admits. “He wanted an answer by the end of the week. I've got some time.”

“You should do it,” Harry whispers, and it's too dark to make out his features save for the brightness of his eyes, white teeth flashing as he talks. “You'd be so amazing, Niall.”

Niall finds Harry's hand where it's laying on the mattress between them and threads their fingers together, pressing his lips to Harry's knuckles. “I'll call him in the morning, tell him yes.”

“Good,” Harry mumbles back, sounding half asleep. He presses closer to Niall, one of his legs slotted between Niall's thighs. “Gonna be so good.”

It's easy to fall asleep next to Harry. The hard part is waking up to cold sheets because Harry's already left for the day, putting in longer hours than Niall, even on days that Niall works a double. Pulling the duvet up over his shoulders, Niall presses his face into the pillow, breathing in the fading scent of Harry's shampoo.

-

It's an easy enough promise to keep, so after half a cup of coffee, Niall dials Ben's number, holding the phone to his ear with only slightly sweaty fingers. 

"Hi, Ben? It's Niall. Horan. I, uh. I have an answer for you, if the offer is still on the table."

"Of course." Ben's voice is warm, soothing the jagged edges of Niall's nerves. "You've had enough time to think it over?"

"Yes," Niall says decisively. "And I want to accept. I'd love to be a part of the morning show."

"Excellent!" There's genuine excitement in Ben's voice. "Can you come in tomorrow and we can talk details? We'll have to wrap up your show, figure out what will replace it, all those odds and ends, so it will probably be at least a few weeks before you can start, but we're very happy to have you on board, Niall. Very happy."

"Me too," Niall says, and it's the truth. Or at least a partial truth.

He has an earlier shift at the pub, and gets home while it's still light out, though the sun has sunk low in the sky. It's fully dark by the time Harry stumbles through the door, and the way his face softens when his eyes find Niall's across the living room can't quite mask the fatigue clinging to him like a second skin. Pushing himself off the sofa, Niall pads over to Harry, drawing him into a hug. Even though Harry's taller, he tucks his face into Niall's neck, arms clinging tightly to Niall's shoulders.

"You're going to burn yourself out, love," Niall tells him, hands rubbing up and down Harry's broad back. "Trying to keep this pace up."

Harry breathes out harshly, a hot gust of air brushing Niall's clavicle. "It's temporary," Harry says, voice heavy, as if Niall needed the reminder. He changes the subject before Niall can respond. "So did you talk to your radio people?"

"I did," Niall confirms, drawing back from Harry far enough that he can maneuver his feet without tripping over Harry's, steering them both towards the sofa. Curling onto the cushion, he pulls Harry down next to him, and Harry lands with an oomph, folding himself into Niall's side. "Be a few weeks yet, but you're looking at the face of the morning show. Well, half the morning show. The long-term fill in for half the morning show." Niall wrinkles is nose. "It's a start, anyway."

"They'd be crazy not to keep you on permanently," Harry says with authority, pressed so close that Niall can feel the movement of his jaw as he speaks. "Best voice in radio. Best face, too. Best everything."

Niall's laugh is small, but genuine. "I think maybe you're a bit biased, Haz."

"No, no, no," Harry protests, mumbling a bit, his tongue slowed with sleep. "I'm impartial, I swear. You're the best in the whole galaxy. Universe, even."

"That so?" Niall asks with amusement, carding his fingers through Harry's loose curls.

"Yeah," Harry says on a sigh, sinking fully into Niall. He lets out a quiet snore a moment later, the fragile skin beneath his eyes touched with exhaustion. He hasn't even managed to kick off his boots, the glittered surface of them reflecting brightly even in the soft lamp light. Niall should wake him up, drag him into bed so he can get a proper night's sleep. Harry's going to get an awful crick in his neck, curled up like this to fit himself into the spaces Niall's left for him, like two parts of a whole.

Instead, he wraps his arm even more securely around Harry's shoulder, drawing him in close and pressing a lingering kiss to Harry's temple. Harry doesn't wake up, but nuzzles in closer, his hair tickling Niall's cheek. 

-

With the expiration date on his time with Harry looming closer, they scrape together every minute they can, and Niall doesn't have much left over for Liam. He tries to text whenever he finds a spare moment, at least brief check-ins, because Liam doesn't deserve two shit friends. It's hard, though, when the careful world Niall's built is crashing down around him.

Everything's in pieces, splintered and broken, and he doesn't know how to pull it back together, set it right. He'd finally packed up his old dream and let it go, a weight lifted from his shoulders. He'd even found something new that felt right, settling the incessant itch beneath his skin. Niall's grounded in a way he hasn't been in years with the promise of Ben's offer, doing more than just digging in his roots and hoping to survive. For the first time in a long time, it feels like he could blossom.

He doesn't know how, though, without the people that helped him get here. The desert can be a lonely place without someone to lean on, reflecting grief for the ones you've lost back at you, a mirror into the empty recesses of your chest.

Desert roots are made to survive droughts, but Niall doesn't know what to do with a sky that's clouded over, blocking out the sun.

-

The night before Harry leaves, Niall fucks him into the mattress and Harry leaves scratches down his back that will take days to fade. They fuck again when the sky turns gray with predawn light, this time slow and tender until they're both trembling when they finally come, Harry gasping out Niall's name like a prayer.

Their hug goodbye lasts a long time, Niall's forehead resting on Harry's broad shoulder, and when he presses one final kiss to Niall's mouth, Niall can feel the wetness on his cheeks.

“I love you, Niall,” he says, small and broken.

“Love you too, Haz,” Niall murmurs, throat closing up. He reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind Harry's ear, and Harry rubs his cheek against Niall's hand like it's instinct.

“Take care of yourself, all right? Eat more salad. It's good for you.”

“Shut up, you idiot,” Niall says, and it comes out sounding disgustingly fond and more than a little choked. Harry gives him a watery smile, brushing at his lashes, and pecks one last quick kiss to Niall's cheek before turning on his heel.

He doesn't turn around once when he walks away, folding himself into his car and peeling off down the street.

Letting himself back inside, Niall goes straight to the kitchen. The house is a mess even though it feels emptier than it did yesterday; the pile of Harry's journals and books gone from the coffee table in the living room, the brightly colored shirts and scarves and boots Harry loved missing from the floor in Niall's bedroom. There are still traces of him left – the extra mug in the dish drainer by the sink, a note in Harry's handwriting stuck to the fridge – but it's not enough.

Niall pads to the refrigerator and reaches for a beer. It's cold against his fingers, and after a long moment, he puts it back in the fridge and grabs a bottle of water instead.

It feels good on his raw throat, even if it does nothing for his stinging eyes.

-

Niall works a double at the pub the next day, leaving his mobile at home because he forgot to charge it the night before, and when he gets in, the house is so quiet and empty that he goes straight for the whiskey he keeps on top of the fridge.

He doesn't want to wake up alone in bed, so he ends up passing out on the sofa, buried under a blanket more for the comfort of it than the warmth, the half finished bottle of whiskey on the floor next to him.

When he does wake up, it's to a crushing weight on his chest, making it hard to breathe. His eyes snap open, lungs stuttering, and his blinks in surprise.

“Louis?” he croaks, because it appears that Louis is, in fact, seated on Niall's chest, peering down at him with concern. “I can't breathe,” he manages to tack on, and with an eyeroll like he's the one being inconvenienced, Louis shifts until he's sitting on the sliver of sofa available next to Niall's hip.

“You've got Liam in a right state,” Louis says, shoving at Niall until he can wedge his way more securely onto the sofa cushion. “Says you haven't texted him back in days, that your phone's going straight to voicemail and Harry's is actually _disconnected_.”

And oh, Niall hadn't even thought about that. What happened to Harry's phone, his car, everything on Earth that he couldn't take with him. His throat goes tight and he turns on his side to bury his face against the sofa before Louis can see that his eyes are going wet with tears again.

“Niall? Bro, what's going on?” Louis asks, sounding less sure than he did a moment before. He rubs a hand over Niall's back and Niall shudders, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Harry left,” he mumbles, barely audible. “Don' wanna talk about it.”

“He _left_?” Louis repeats, something like outrage sneaking into his voice. “To go _where_?”

Niall can't help it, the sudden, near-hysterical laughter that escapes, scraping past his raw throat. “His home planet,” Niall gasps, his laughs veering dangerously close to sobs. “Fucking aliens, you know?”

“Niall,” Louis says sharply. “Are you still drunk?”

He and Harry never talked about it, if Niall was allowed to tell anyone else. It was always sort of implied that he shouldn't, but, well – Harry isn't here to stop him, is he?

“No, I'm -” he's a fucking mess, is what he is, chest hitching suddenly with a hiccup, his nose and throat clogged. “I'm not drunk,” he says, pushing himself more or less into an upright position.

“Anymore,” he amends when Louis looks pointedly at the half empty whiskey bottle on the floor. “I'm, uh. Not coping so well. And I probably should have told you and Liam before, but Harry was always carrying on about interplanetary laws, and it was just easier, y'know, not to say.”

“What the actual fuck are you talking about, Niall?”

Niall scrubs a hand through his hair. His mouth is unbearably dry, the corners of his eyes crusty, and Niall does not want to be having this conversation right now. “I already know you're going to judge, so I'm asking that you just shut up and listen until I've said my piece, all right?”

“Fair,” Louis says after considering for a moment, and crosses his arms over his chest.

There are times Niall still can't wrap his head around it, so many questions he can't answer, but it's too late to back out now. “So, you know how Harry was super weird?”

Louis nods in acknowledgment.

“Well, like.” Picking at a hangnail, Niall takes a deep breath and takes the plunge. “It turns out that was because he's actually an alien. Like, from another planet, I mean. Only he said the term alien was offensive and insisted I say 'extra-terrestrial,' and for all I know other aliens are actually normal and it was just him that was weird, but I don't have much of a sample size, so.” Niall shrugs.

Probably best he not mention Zayn, if he's got a prayer of convincing Louis, who's looking at him like he's grown a second head, mouth gaping, so Niall quickly adds, “Um, anyway. He was here doing some kind of research on plants, I dunno the details, and his internship or whatever didn't get extended, so he had to leave. Back to his home planet, I mean. He's, uh. Probably not coming back.” When Niall's voice cracks, the expression on Louis' face softens a little.

“Niall,” he says gently. “You do realize how fucking insane you sound right now, yes?”

“God, you fucking prick, yes, I realize how it sounds, but I'm not, like, taking the piss here, all right?” He sags back into the sofa. “I didn't believe Harry at first either, but he's a really shitty liar, and there were some other, um… things, that confirmed it.”

“What kind of _things_?” Louis asks immediately, still looking suspicious and a little intrigued. “You can't make a claim like that and not back it up.”

He can feel himself blush. “What kind do you think? Sex things, all right, and I'm not sharing the details with you. The point is, he's an al-- extra-terrestrial, okay, and he's gone, and I can't even --” he's sniffling, suddenly, to his complete mortification. “I can't even _talk_ to him, to make sure he's all right.”

“I'm calling Liam,” Louis decides, wriggling his phone free from the prison of his back pocket.

Niall flops back onto the sofa. “Staging an intervention?”

“I haven't decided yet,” Louis says, phone pressed to his ear. “Yeah, Liam? No, it's – I'm at Niall's. Yeah. I need you here.”

-

Liam's brows push closer and closer together the more Niall talks, until they're nearly touching in the middle. “So you really believe that Harry's an alien?” he says once Niall's finished. “That seems kind of far-fetched, doesn't it?”

“That's what I said!” Louis says, and Niall glares at him.

“No, you told me I sounded insane.”

Louis waves a dismissive hand. “Don't split hairs.”

Brows still furrowed in concern, Liam worries his bottom lip between his teeth, studying Niall's face like maybe he can find the truth written there. Releasing his lip at last, he says, “I believe you, Niall.”

“ _What?_ ” Louis squawks in outrage, and Liam doesn't even look at him.

“Niall's not a liar, and he's not crazy,” Liam says, even more firmly. “If he says that Harry's an alien, then Harry's an alien.”

“That's ableist,” Niall says automatically, and Liam cocks his head.

“Whatsit?”

Scrubbing a hand over his face, Niall sighs. “Sorry, I mean – thank you, Liam. For believing me. I said the same thing to Harry, when he was trying to convince me, that it was crazy and all that--” Louis huffs, sitting back with his arms crossed over his chest. Niall ignores him. “--but I'm telling you, it's true.”

“So, what, he just packed up his shit and flew off in a spaceship?” Louis sounds scornful, but he's tugging at his fringe, smoothing it to the side. His gaze flicks back and forth between Niall and Liam, shoulders hunched defensively.

“Interplanetary vessel,” Niall corrects. “And this isn't a prank, or whatever you're thinking.”

“I'm not--” Louis starts, but for the first time since Liam walked through the door, he actually looks at Louis.

“You think Niall's making this up as a _prank_?” he asks in disbelief.

“I didn't say that, so don't go putting words in my mouth,” Louis says hotly. “And I get it, okay, I wasn't exactly responsive the last few months, but this – this alien story is just –”

Niall can count on one hand the number of times he's seen Liam genuinely angry, but there's no mistaking the thunderous expression on his face. “Not _exactly responsive_?” he repeats. “You – oh my god, you self-centered _asshole_. You think we, what, _staged_ this, just to trick you into coming home?”

Louis' never met a fight he knew when to back down from, and he spits out, “Oh, right, because it's totally plausible that Niall's boyfriend is a fucking alien who's run off on his spaceship. Jesus Christ, Liam, listen to yourself.”

Abruptly, Niall pushes to his feet. There's a ball of pain in his temple like a jackhammer knocking against his skull and nausea rises in his throat for an alarming moment before it settles back in his gut, still churning. Both Liam and Louis fall silent as he walks out of the room, padding down the hall to his bedroom. Tossing the pillows and duvet to the floor, Niall strips the sheet off the mattress, balling it under his arm to carry back with him. In living room, he drops it unceremoniously at Louis' feet.

“What's this?” Louis asks, looking like a cornered animal, hackles raised.

“Your fucking proof,” Niall tells him. Nodding to the purple-stained sheet, he adds, “It's alien plasma. Get it tested if you don't believe me.” He's bluffing, because he's got no idea what the hell Harry's spunk is actually made out of, and he's definitely not going to tell them what it really is.

Eyeing him with suspicion, Louis slowly crouches down, reaching for the sheet. Careful not to touch the purple bits, he turns the fabric over in his hands, examining it closely, and Niall wills himself not to blush. Even dried and tacky, it's still a brilliant, deep purple, shimmering faintly in the early afternoon light.

“I don't want to know what you really mean by plasma, do I,” Louis says after a very long moment, still looking at the sheet.

“No,” Niall admits. On the sofa, Liam's sort of slouched against the arm, looking like all the fight has deflated out of him.

“Christ,” Louis says again, rubbing his fingers over his mouth. Breathing out audibly, he finally flicks his gaze up at Niall. “Sorry. I really am an asshole.”

_It's fine_ , Niall wants to say, but it's really not. None of it is. Instead, he nods. “Yeah. Gonna take a shower, I think.” He doesn't wait for a response before walking back out of the room, locking the bathroom door behind him.

-

When he cautiously steps out of the bathroom a solid half an hour later, steam billowing out the door behind him and fingers pink and pruny, he finds Liam in the kitchen washing dishes.

“You don't have to do that,” Niall tells him, scrubbing a towel over his damp hair.

“I know,” Liam says. Then, a moment later, “Louis' out on your patio. Didn't want to leave until he was sure you'd be okay.”

Niall snorts. “He planning to stay awhile then?”

The glass Liam was holding clatters to the sink, and Niall flinches. “Shit, Li, I'm sorry, I didn't even think--”

“Don't worry about it,” Liam mumbles, fishing the glass out of the soapy water. “It's fine, all right? It's gonna be fine.” He sounds like he's trying to convince himself more than Niall, attacking the glass with a sponge with more force than it probably needs.

His bones feel like they've been steeped in exhaustion and he doesn't have the energy for false platitudes, so Niall lets Liam be and steps out the backdoor to the patio. Louis is perched on the edge of one of the chairs, cigarette in hand and gaze unfocused. When Niall settles himself into the other chair, Louis reaches into his pocket to pull out his pack of cigarettes, holding it out in offering.

Niall plucks one free, sliding it between his teeth and cupping his hand around the end when Louis flicks open his lighter, flame sparking. He doesn't smoke often, but the nicotine greets his bloodstream like an old friend, calming his frayed edges.

“Liam inside?” Louis asks after a few minutes, still staring at the fuzzy line of the horizon.

Breathing out a stream of smoke, Niall says, “Yeah. Still waiting on his apology, I think.”

Louis stiffens, cheeks hollowing as he takes a long drag of his cigarette, but otherwise doesn't respond.

“Don't run away again, Lou,” Niall says, softly as he can after the silence has dragged on for a few minutes. Louis flinches anyway. “We need you here.”

He can see the moment Louis puts on the mask, lips pulling up into a smile that stops at his cheekbones. “If that was an invitation to stay on your couch, then I'm in,” he says.

It's small, but it's a start.

-

Not a great start, as it turns out.

Louis doesn't seem to know what to do with himself, pacing around Niall's tiny house when he's not chain smoking on the back patio. It's hard to say if he's avoiding Liam or if Liam's avoiding him, but unless Niall's there to buffer, neither one will willingly spend time with the other. He feels less like a third wheel and more like a child caught between divorced parents; Liam's brittle smiles and Louis' loud, brass jokes to overcompensate making his teeth grind.

They're both willing to listen, at least, when he talks about Harry, and even Louis seems to take a genuine interest in his stories about Harry's weird alien quirks, and the few insights Niall's been able to collect about his culture.

During the day, Niall's preoccupied with working on the new show, a paycheck away from being able to quit tending bar altogether. The early mornings mean he drops off to sleep in a fit of exhaustion each night, and while keeping himself turned on and chipper for the show is nice escape from the rest of his life, it leaves him feeling drained and empty by the time he gets home, in no shape to deal with his emotionally stunted friends.

By the time Friday night rolls around, Louis' riled up with near manic energy, overly bright and loud as he tries to coax a laugh out of Niall with increasingly aggressive tactics. Next to him on the sofa, where he's trying doggedly to offer Niall a literal shoulder to lean on, Liam's face remains carefully blank as Louis talks and talks, his volume increasing by the second.

After Niall doesn't manage more than a rusty huff of air that objectively sounds closer to a sigh than an actual laugh, Louis throws his hands up.

“All right, I've had about enough of your moping,” he declares.

“Louis,” Liam says, a warning in his tone.

“Don't start with me, Payno. Look at him, he's fucking miserable. We're gonna do something about it.”

“I've tried,” Niall says, snuggling further into Liam's shoulder. He's as warm and solid as Harry, but he smells all wrong, like soap and aftershave. Harry always smelled like the coconut shampoo he favored, with something wilder underneath. “I don't think I can even look at whiskey anymore.”

“No, what? I'm not talking about – okay, fair, I can understand why you'd assume I'm talking about drinking.” Liam snorts, and Louis shoots him an icy glare. “But that wasn't actually what I was going to suggest.”

“Oh, this'll be good,” Liam mutters, and it's not out of the question that Louis is actually going to murder him. Niall tries to muster up the energy for concern.

“Enough from the fucking peanut gallery. Niall, listen, okay, this is a brilliant plan.” Louis grins sharply, lips pulled thin. “You want to check on your boy, right? Why don't we break into Area 51, send him a message.”

Niall feels his mouth drop open. “That's...” he starts, can't figure out how to finish.

“The stupidest fucking idea you've ever had,” Liam says, filling in the blank for him. The venom in his voice would be surprising, if Niall hadn't spent the last week watching him simmer to a boiling point.  “Honestly, Louis, that's just gonna end with us getting arrested, or shot on sight.”

“Then don't come!” He rounds on Niall. “Look, you admitted yourself that Harry all but flat out said that Area 51 is their home base. They've got to park their fucking spaceships somewhere, yeah? Communicate with their home planet somehow, or Harry never would have known his internship thing ended. We just hop a few fences, steal a couple uniforms and walk around like we're supposed to be there. No one'll stop us, I guarantee it.”

“Have you been picking up extra shifts to save up on bail money?” Liam asks, a bite to his tone that will undoubtedly slither under Louis' skin, whether that's his intention or not. “Because god knows I don't have the funds to bail you out when this goes wrong.”

Louis' features twist in outrage, his lip pulled up in a snarl. “Well, Jesus, Liam, don't hold back. Tell me how you really feel. What have you suggested, then, hmm? How the fuck do you propose we get in touch with Harry?”

“Niall's already _said,_ ” he growls, pushing to his feet. “We can't, it's impossible, so it's time to stop throwing around stupid fucking ideas and just be there for him!”

“I _am_ being here for him!” Louis snaps, shoving at Liam's shoulder. “I'm just trying not to be completely fucking useless, unlike some people in this room--”

Liam shoves him back, hard enough that Louis stumbles backwards a step. “Oh, yeah, a lot of use you were, fucking off to Vegas for a month, had no idea anything was even _wrong_ until I texted you--”

“Hey. Lads. LADS!” Niall yells, and both Liam and Louis snap their heads around to look at him. “Liam's right,” he says, quieter. “It's a stupid fucking idea.” Louis scowls, and Niall quickly adds, “but I want to do it. If there's even a chance… I have to know. And if there's not, well. Maybe it'll help me get over him.”

It won't, probably. But it's better than sitting around, feeling useless and playing referee.

Louis looks gleeful, and Liam looks resigned. “I'll drive,” he sighs. “I don't trust either of your cars to get us there in one piece.”

“Keep that attitude up, Payno, and see if we don't leave you at a fucking gas station in the middle of the desert,” Louis sniffs.

Niall gets shotgun, mostly so Liam and Louis don't actually kill each other, and Liam turns the music up loud. It's fine by Niall, because he's got no interest in filling the air with useless talk for the two and a half hour drive. In the backseat, Louis looks vaguely mutinous, but since he and Liam have an almost identical taste in music, he has nothing substantial to complain about.

Louis pulls out a bottle of rum as soon as they leave the lights of Pahrump behind them, the cheap shit that burns all the way down. He takes a swig, eyes meeting Liam's in the rear view mirror, and it's going to be a long fucking drive if they keep this up. Niall can see the way a muscle ticks in Liam's jaw as he focuses his gaze on the road, and when Louis passes the rum up, Niall accepts the bottle, knocking back a swallow. Coughing, he hands it back, ignoring Louis' smirk.

“Pretty pathetic for an Irishman,” Louis says, holding the bottle by the neck and tipping it up for another drink. “This shit'll put hair on your chest.”

“Destroy your brain cells, too,” Liam mutters. “And I don't think you've got many to spare.”

Niall reaches out to turn the music up even louder.

-

Two and a half hours later, Liam's car rolls to a stop on a sandy patch of desert road. There's a chain link fence in the distance, but it's not topped with barbed wire like Niall was expecting. It looks easy to climb, honestly, except for the way that Niall's vision takes a second to catch up when he turns his head.

“Where the fuck are we?” Louis slurs from the backseat. The empty bottle of rum is sitting next to him.

“Area 51, according to the GPS,” Liam answers in a measured tone.

“You can't put _Area 51_ into a fucking GPS, Liam, god. Everybody knows that.”

Sounding like the words are being pushed out from between gritted teeth, Liam says, “Thanks for that insight, Louis, really. You've been so _helpful_ this entire trip.”

“Oh, fuck off. You're such a--”

Niall doesn't find out what Liam is, because he's already got his seat belt unbuckled, climbing out of the car on unsteady feet. He didn't think he'd drank all that much, but it's catching up to him now, his head spinning. Possibly it was a mistake, passing the rum back and forth with Louis for most of the drive, drinking until there was nothing left.

The sounds of Liam and Louis' heated argument filter out of the car into the night, and Niall lurches away until it's background noise. His goal is the chain link fence that's only a few dozen yards off, and it's a simple matter of putting one foot in front of the other until Niall reaches it, grabbing hold with both hands, the metal rattling terrifically.

He winces, eyes squeezed shut as he waits for armed guards and barking dogs, but there's nothing but the howl of the wind, whipping through the mountains in the distance. It occurs to him, distantly, that Liam's probably driven them to the wrong patch of desert, but it doesn't really matter, in the end.

This plan was never going to work. There is no magic connection to Harry, no hope for Niall to cling to. Space is as far away as it's ever been; further, even, because now Niall knows what lies in its depths beyond where humans can travel, but still can't reach it.

He sinks to his knees, head dizzy with alcohol. The chain link is cold against his fingers, and he presses his forehead into it, closing his eyes and focusing on his breathing, in and out, in and out.

Some time later – he has no idea how long, because the stars don't seem to have moved when he opens his eyes again – there's a gentle hand on his back.

“I'll boost you up, if you want. We can make it over the fence, easy,” Louis says.

Niall shakes his head. “'S'no good, Lou. It was never any good.”

“Liam's a fucking idiot, I know, but if we – look, we just have to follow the signs, all right, to the actual Area 51, and then we just--”

“No,” Niall interrupts him, lifting his head. His fingers are still curled around the chain link, and it grounds him, having something to cling to. “He's gone, Louis. He's gone, and he's not coming back, and you won't even – Liam's right there, and all you two can do is fight, because you're too scared to admit that you're in love with him. He's _right fucking there_ , and you're being a coward.”

Louis' eyes grow round as the moon, and when Liam clears his throat, Niall realizes just how literal his words were.

“Um,” Liam says, and when Niall turns towards him, he's rubbing his hand over the back of his neck, head ducked.

“You're a coward, too,” Niall tells him when his vision catches up, snapping into place after a hazy moment. “A coward _and_ an idiot, because you won't even admit it to yourself. The pair of you are a good match, honestly. Right there in front of each other, and you won't do a fucking thing about it.”

It's the rum talking, or maybe the heartache; Niall doesn't know. He's tired, suddenly, feeling small and insignificant with the entire weight of the desert sky pressing down on him. Holding onto the chain link, he pulls himself to his feet with a grunt.

“I'll be in the car.”

Neither one of them responds, which is fine by Niall. He only trips a few times before he makes it to Liam's car, crawling into the backseat and passing out the second his head touches down.

-

Niall wakes up to someone gently shaking his shoulder. Blinking slowly, he eventually focuses his gaze on a concerned Liam, eyebrows drawn up with worry.

“Sorry to wake you,” he says softly. “Louis wanted me to let you sleep, but you didn't move at all during the drive back. Had to make sure you were alive.”

“ _Feel_ like death,” Niall mumbles, rubbing at his eyes. There's a snore from the front seat, and Niall raises a brow at Liam. Or, well. He tries to. His face isn't being very cooperative.

“I'm taking him back to mine,” Liam says, so his expression must've translated. “We, uh. Talked quite a bit, on the way home. Probably some more we need to discuss, once he's sober, but...” he trails off, mouth pulling into a small smile. “Feel like I should say thanks.”

“'M just glad you finally pulled your heads out of your arses,” Niall says around a yawn, and Liam laughs. He walks Niall inside, quieting his protests and filling up a glass of water for him. Niall gulps down half of it and feels marginally better, but his head is still cloudy.

“You okay on the couch?” Liam asks after he returns from the kitchen, Niall's refilled glass in his hand. “I could grab you a blanket, or something.”

“It's fine, Liam. I'll be all right, I promise. I just need some more time, y'know?”

“'Course,” Liam says, bending down to smack a kiss to the side of Niall's head. “I'll give you a call tomorrow, all right? We'll get breakfast. Uh. Lunch, maybe.”

“Lunch would be better,” Niall agrees, tipping over onto the sofa. Liam sets the glass of water down on the coffee table, and Niall's asleep before he hears the door shut quietly behind him.

-

His phone's dead by the time he wakes up mid-afternoon, mouth filled with cotton and head pounding. He downs the water Liam left him, plugging in his phone while he lets the water heat up for a shower. The bathroom fills with steam, his skin pinking up beneath the hot spray, and it's started to go cold by the time he steps out, feeling close to human again.

There's half a dozen messages on his phone when he ambles back to his room, mostly from Louis with a lot of emojis that Niall interprets as concern. He taps out a quick reply before tossing his phone onto the bed, digging through his closet for something clean to wear.

_Dont worry, im alive. Be ready to meet you for lunch in a few._

-

Niall's first to the diner, of course, because Louis hasn't been on time a day in his life, and he's dragged Liam down to the gutter with him. Niall gets their usual booth near the back, the one next to a framed photo of a slightly out of focus, black and white desert scene with a smudge hovering just above the horizon that could be a UFO, if you squint.

When Liam and Louis finally show up, they're holding hands, Liam's cheeks faintly pink and a truly impressive mark blooming a brilliant purple on his neck.

“Fun morning, boys?” Niall asks, taking a sip of ice water. He doesn't hold out much hope it'll do anything for his hangover.

Louis bares his teeth at him in proximity to a smile. “I don't fully remember last night, but Liam tells me that I have you to blame,” he says, sliding into the booth across from Niall and pulling Liam in after him.

“You're welcome,” Niall says pointedly.

Louis' right hand and Liam's left are beneath the table, so the probability they're still holding hands is pretty high. Ignoring it, Niall pretends to read the menu, even though he already picked out what he wanted ten minutes ago.

Liam clears his throat. “We, uh. We have something to say.”

Glancing up, Niall raises a brow.

“Right.” Eyes darting to Louis for a second, Liam takes a deep breath. “We're sorry, Niall. Both of us. We've been – look, we should have been there for you, instead of fighting with each other. And you shouldn't have had to get really drunk and yell for us to pull it together, but, um. I'm glad you did.”

Louis nods along thoughtfully with Liam's speech. “Yeah, exactly. That.”

“Louis!” Liam admonishes in a low voice, and Louis sighs dramatically. “I'm sorry too, okay? I shouldn't have run away like a moping teenager and I shouldn't have tried to pick fights with Liam and I should've been a better friend to both of you. This is so fucking sappy, I'm stopping now. Happy, Liam?”

In response, Liam darts in and presses a kiss to the corner of Louis' mouth. Louis actually blushes.

Niall tries to hide his first real smile in days by taking another drink of water. It's a moderate success.

-

When he gets home from lunch, the house is dark and lonely, drapes pulled shut to block out the harsh desert sun. Niall shoves them open, jerking on the finicky cord to wrench the blinds up as well, and light spills into the room, illuminating the dirty floor and what's probably half of Louis' wardrobe scattered about his living room.

Harry's gone, and he's not coming back. But Niall's still here, in this patch of desert he's carved a home into, roots dug in deep enough to weather even the longest droughts.

Grabbing a laundry basket from the bedroom, he starts bundling up Louis' clothes, the throw blanket draped over the sofa that hasn't been washed in ages, a sock from under the armchair that might actually have belonged to Harry. After he starts a load of laundry, he digs a hoover out of the closet, attacking the carpet. The coffee table and shelves are covered in a layer of dust too, so he goes after them next, standing on his tiptoes to reach the highest shelf with his duster.

He can't see the top of the books lined up neatly in a row, but he runs the duster across them just to be safe. It's only then that he notices the unfamiliar title, shoved between an old textbook on astrophysics he could never quite grasp and a copy of _To Kill a Mockingbird_ he never actually read. He pulls it from the shelf, running his finger down the cracked spine.

It's a book on the care of cacti and succulents, Harry's chicken scratch all over the margins. Some of the writing's in English and the rest is completely unintelligible to Niall, maybe the native alien language Harry would never use in front of him. He sucks in a sharp breath, touching the glossy pages gently.

There's no reason for Harry to have shoved this book onto Niall's shelf, to have left it behind at all. The only hint Niall finds is a bookmark wedged between two pages; just a scrap of notebook paper, really, half of it torn away. When Niall flips to the page, he can't help the smile that tugs at his lips.

The succulent Harry's bookmarked is a deep, reddish purple shaped a bit like a lotus flower. He's underlined barely any of the text, just the words _drought resistant_ , and the only note on the page is 'ask Liam if plants are a normal present. Romantic??' Romantic is underlined twice.

“You idiot,” Niall says out loud, shaking his head. It takes him a minute to find a pen, and then he uses the scrap of paper to jot down the name.

Pinning the paper to the fridge, Niall carefully slides the book back onto his shelf. It takes him another two hours to deep clean his entire house, and a half hour after that to shower away the aches and pains of scrubbing the whole kitchen floor on his hands and knees.

By six pm, Niall's passed out in bed. He sleeps for 14 hours straight.

-

With each passing day, putting on a bright face for the morning show feels less like a chore and more like finding himself again. Niall loves the routine of it, his alarm going off the same time each morning, his new coffee machine programmed to kick on five minutes before so he wakes up to the smell of fresh coffee every day.

It's not his birthday, but a week or so later, Niall drives out to one of the plant nurseries Harry was always raging about, the piece of paper with smudged writing in his pocket. He takes his time browsing, but he knows he's found the right one the second he sees it.

The succulent looks great on the windowsill above the kitchen sink where it can catch light all afternoon, its deep purple leaves radiant against the dull rust of the desert.

-

“No, Louis, you don't have to bring a dish to pass – I'm hosting, all right, and I don't want you to burn Liam's kitchen down.”

“Have you considered standup, because you're a goddamn comedian,” Louis says without a trace of humor. “We're your guests, Liam is insisting that we bring something.”

Readjusting his load so that he's holding all his bags in one hand, Niall shoves the key into the lock, stepping inside once the door swings open. “This isn't like a fancy dinner party or anything. I'm just gonna throw a coupl'a steaks on the grill.”

“Liam also wants to bring this girl that he met at the garage, says she's perfect for you, but--”

“Louis--”

“-- _but_ , I shut that down right away. He means well, our Liam, but I don't think he's very good at being single. Wants everyone to be as happily coupled up as he is.” Louis pauses. “Did that sound like I was bragging?”

Laughing, Niall drops his bags on the kitchen counter, unloading the steaks into the fridge. “You were bragging, you prick. But it's fine, yeah? I want it to be just us three. I'm not, like, holding a torch for Harry or anything.”

Louis' silence speaks louder than anything he could have said.

“I'll be fine,” Niall tries. “I'm happy, I swear. I've got my show, and I've got you and Liam. It's enough, you know?” It's the truth, mostly, because Niall is happy. Mostly.

“It's only been a month, Niall. It's okay, if you're still sad about it. You don't, like, have to fake it for me and Liam.”

With a snort, Niall switches his phone to his other ear, holding it in place with his shoulder as he grabs a beer from the fridge, rooting around the drawer for a bottle opener. “When did you become such a sap, hmm?”

“I think Liam's rubbing off on me. It's horrifying.” He sounds delighted. “But I'm being one-hundred percent serious.”

“I know,” Niall says softly. “And thank you. But I just want a normal day with my mates. That will make me happy, all right?”

“Whatever you say, Nialler.” He rings off after that, leaving Niall to put away the last of the groceries. The sun's long since set, the sky an inky black when Niall steps out onto the patio. It's chilly this time of year, even in the desert, and he wraps his arms around his chest, his jumper barely thick enough to keep the wind from biting into his skin.

Overhead, the stars are shining, and Niall's eyes trace over the familiar constellations. He never asked Harry what the stars look like from his planet, if he had a favorite constellation back home, or if there were stories behind them like on Earth; a few of the thousands of questions that are too late now, out of reach.

Sipping at his beer, Niall watches the night sky until his eyes start to droop with exhaustion. He's about to pack it in and head inside when movement catches his eye. It looks like a plane at first, a streaking white light, but it moves too fast, shines too bright.

Niall sits up straight, heart in his throat. He's never seen a UFO before, but whatever's out there doesn't look like anything from this planet. The light swells impossibly brighter, until Niall can make out the glowing tip as it races through the sky, a tail of light trailing in its wake. There's an infinite gulf between one second and the next, but in reality only a few pass by before the light winks out altogether, leaving behind a sky that looks even darker than it did before, an endless abyss above him.

He sits on the patio for a long, long time before he goes to inside, his bed too empty and his heart too full.

-

By morning, he's convinced himself that he didn't see anything at all. The chances that it's actually an extra-terrestrial coming or going from Earth seem impossibly small, given the way Harry talked so casually about flights and interplanetary vessels and military cover-ups ensuring that the general population was none the wiser. And even if that is what Niall saw, well. It's not like it was Harry coming back.

At least, that's what he tries to tell himself. The hope clings stubbornly, his heart a size too big for his chest.

Dragging himself into the shower, Niall sticks his face directly into the spray, plastering his hair to his skull. By the time Louis and Liam show up, Louis empty-handed and Liam with a nice bottle of wine, Niall's shaken the worst of his weird mood.

“C'mon in, boys. Was just about to fire up the grill.”

“You got beer?” Louis asks, pushing past him and heading towards the kitchen. “I'm not drinking any of Liam's shit wine.”

“Hey! You helped pick it out!”

It's a little cold, but they settle out on the patio anyway, soaking in what sunlight they can. Niall lights the grill while Liam and Louis seat themselves at the rickety table, drinks in hand. He's already seasoned the steaks and as soon as the grill's properly heated, he slips inside to pull them from the fridge.

“Your cactus looks nice, Niall,” Liam says with polite sincerity, nodding towards Niall's kitchen window when he steps back outside. “I like the purple.”

“It's actually a succulent,” Niall says, and Louis' eyeroll might be visible from space.

“So a fancy cactus, is what you're saying.”

Flipping open the lid of the grill, Niall carefully places each steak on the cooking grid with a sizzle. “Watch your mouth, before I burn yours.”

Louis just cocks his eyebrow, because he knows a bluff when he hears one. Niall would never burn a perfectly good steak.

There's slightly more hand holding, and the occasional frisky grope, but otherwise it's like nothing has changed, spending time with Liam and Louis. They bicker the entire time Niall's grilling, only now Liam shuts Louis up by kissing him whenever he digs his heels in.

Niall takes the opportunity to slink back inside to grab the salad from the fridge – pre-bagged, nothing fancy, but completely edible if he pours enough ranch on it – when the doorbell chimes.

Setting his sad bag of salad on the counter with a frown, he takes a quick peek out the window, where Liam and Louis are now heavily making out, threatening to topple Liam's chair over. He won't be missed for the second it'll take to answer the door, politely send the salesperson or girl scout or UPS delivery guy on their way.

Fixing a smile on his face, he swings open the door, and has to promptly clutch at the door frame to keep from falling over. Standing on the slab of cement that serves as a tiny front porch is a figment of his imagination, or maybe a dream come to life.

“Harry?” Niall says in complete disbelief.

Harry's pink mouth pulls up into a nervous smile, his hands clasped behind his back. His hair is longer than Niall remembers, hanging past his shoulders in loose curls, and half his chest is on display, most of the buttons on his bright purple shirt left undone.

“Hiiii,” Harry says, reaching up with one hand to tug at a strand of hair.

Niall's got a white-knuckle grip on the door frame because he doesn't trust his knees. Doesn't trust his eyes, for that matter, because this can't be real. “You're here,” he breathes.

“I am,” Harry confirms, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, biting his bottom lip. “Are you going to invite me in?”

“Harry. You're _here_ ,” Niall repeats. He doesn't take his eyes off Harry when he pinches a bit of skin between his thumb and forefinger, twisting until the pain makes him almost yelp. Not a dream, then.

“What are you doing?” Harry asks, brow furrowing in concern. “Don't do that, Niall, you'll hurt yourself.”

“You're really, honestly here,” Niall says, and then he's throwing himself at Harry, trembling knees be damned. Harry staggers back half a step at the sudden weight, but his arms wrap around Niall, hauling him in, and Niall buries his face in Harry's neck, breathing in his familiar scent; coconut, and something wilder underneath. God, Niall missed that smell.

“Missed you so much, you have no idea,” Harry murmurs, lips moving against Niall's temple as he speaks, and Niall lifts his face, bringing one hand up to cup Harry's cheek. He only has to push onto his toes a little, chin tilted up, because Harry's already slouching to meet him halfway. Niall tries to pour everything he's feeling into the kiss, relief shot through with love and want and need, his chest so full of emotion it feels like he could burst.

Harry kisses him back just as desperately, licking into Niall's mouth like he can't get enough, one hand sliding up to bury his fingers into Niall's hair, the other gripping him hard enough that he'll have finger shaped bruises on his hip come morning.

“I don't understand,” Niall mumbles when he has to break the kiss to catch his breath, still clinging to Harry so tightly that there's not an inch of space between them. “You're supposed to be on a spaceship right now.”

“Interplanetary vessel, Niall, I've _told_ you that,” Harry corrects, and his arms are wrapped so securely around Niall that it's a challenge to breathe. Niall never wants him to let go. “And I, um. I got off a few stops early, phoned my mum.”

Niall pulls his face back just far enough to meet Harry's eye, though he has to go a bit cross-eyed to accomplish it. “You told me phones don't work once you leave Earth.”

“They don't! Look, it was a different kind of – that particular station is – the _point_ , Niall, is that I talked to my mum, and she – I won't get into the details, you wouldn't understand anyway--”

“Hey,” Niall protests, but he can't be bothered to mean it, letting his eyes slip shut as he presses his forehead to Harry's, losing himself in the sound of Harry's rumbling voice, the solid feeling of his chest, warm and firm against Niall's.

“She helped me out, like. Financially. Got a private flight back to Earth. No work visa, no strings attached,” Harry says, and it takes Niall a second to process his words, pulling back again so that he can look Harry in the eye, the skin beneath crinkled with the size of his smile.

“You mean… you can stay?”

“For as long as you'll have me,” Harry grins. His face creases in thought a moment later. “Which, uh, no pressure, but I hope is awhile, at least, because I don't exactly have a place to live, or a job, or… well. I've got you, yeah? Everything else is just details.”

“You're such an idiot,” Niall says, and whatever Harry might've said in reply is lost when Niall presses up on his toes to kiss him again. Harry doesn't seem to mind.

 

**Author's Note:**

> as always, feedback/comments are very appreciated.
> 
> you can also come say hi on [tumblr](http://moondoggiestyle.tumblr.com/) :)


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